Beneath The Armour
by CaliburnWings
Summary: To the world he is the Herald. The Inquisitor. Fearless Warrior and Leader. But beneath the Armour? He is simply a young man desperately learning how to be what that world needs.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt." William Shakespeare.**

Alone, in his room, on the rock hard bed, with the door firmly locked, he wept.

He made sure to make no noise, as he did so. He held his miserable excuse for pillow to his face as the sobs wracked his body. It wouldn't do for the soldiers to hear him. Or for the lack of a better word, his companions: the mysterious elf Solas, always-ready-with-a-quip Varric and the hard and unyielding Cassandra. Mayhap he would have another in a few days' time. Tomorrow he would be on his way to the Storm Coast to meet up with the leader of a mercenary company, The Bull's Chargers and their famous (or infamous) leader, The Iron Bull.

He also shared this floor with the other Inquisition leaders. Josephine Montilyet, she seemed nice. An Antivan, well versed in politics. The name was familiar too, he'd have to ask her about it. Leliana, always smiling before others, and yet the few times he had noticed her in her tent just outside the chantry doors, her mouth would be set in a firm line, eyes searching for unseen foes. Then there was Cullen Rutherford the former Templar. He had seen the effects of lyrium, he knew the symptoms of withdrawal. The headaches, the twitching, he wondered if the others knew what he was attempting. Well best of luck to him. Seeing his elder brother, Richard, suffer had been enough to turn him from Templar life.

So why was he, Henry Maxwell Trevelyan, Chosen of Andraste alone in his room weeping? Simply, his grief had finally caught up with him. He wept for his siblings, those lost and those living. He wept for his parents, for the grief they must be feeling after losing three children, a fourth unlikely to return to them anytime soon. For the people of Thedas who didn't know their only hope was an untried youngster who'd never even seen a demon until the day of the explosion. He wept for himself and a life he would never regain. Carefree Henry Trevelyan, always ready with a smile and a cheeky comment to lighten the mood, had died at the Conclave too. In his place there was the Herald. Figurehead of the Inquisition. People of all ages and races flocked to the banner because of him, hoping to hear how Andraste had shielded him and returned him to the world. Was it true though? Maker knows he had no idea what had happened.

But while He may not remember what happened during the Conclave, he knew the events in his life that proceeded it.

The seventh child of Bann Trevelyan, he and his brother Thomas were sent to represent the family at the Conclave. To assist and record the historic event, that was the official story. The truth was they had gone to find any word of their sister. Evelyn was a mage, missing since the Ostwick Circle fell or rose in rebellion depending on who you asked. The day they left was unremarkable, fair weather, no ominous clouds hovering in the sky, no obvious omens portending his doom. No just his father's firm edict resounding in his ears, his mother's quietly hopeful look as they bid them farewell in the courtyard.

* * *

_The courtyard is fairly empty as the four of us say our goodbyes, just Mother, Father, Thomas and me. William is away on family business, Richard is bedridden after the latest bout of nightmares kept him awake all night. Eleanor left with her children the week before to return to Starkhaven and her husband. Father repeats what he had said to us yesterday and the day before._

_"The Major Powers of this War will be there, the Divine herself too. The majority will be Orlesian at that. Do not let them look down on you, you are a Free Marcher and you are free to do what you think is best in finding her. Do you understand?"_

_A reply in unison. "Yes Father."_

_Modest in temper. Bold in deed. Be calm, discreet, but if you have to, if there's no other way: break heads. No need to tell us that Father. We are Trevelyans, family is everything. I miss her as much as you. The pain pierces me, as does that sorrowful look on Mother's face, she tries to hide it but she can't all the time. She has lost one child already, her days are spent watching Richard struggle with the demons inside his head. I will not add to her pain, I will find our sister, I will do all I can._

_"Speak to anyone you think would have the slightest information. Mages, Templars. This event will be historic, I would expect to see all sorts there". By "all sorts" he means elves, dwarves, possibly those horned giants too. It doesn't matter, who or what they are, if they have information we'll speak to them, beg or threaten if we have to._

_"Understood, Father", comes Thomas' reply. Not a man of many words my brother. He was much more talkative when he was younger. Now he is always solemn. Chantry life for you, probably why he does not look keen on speaking to those who don't follow the Chant._

_Mother startles at this, looking up she shakes her head at Father, then turns to us, "Only speak to them if it is safe to do so, I do not wish to lose…" her voice breaks._

_I rush forward to embrace her, "Mother I swear we will do all we can"._

_"Thank you my dear boys, I know you will". She buries her face in my chest to hide her tears._

_More hugs follow. Father lightens the mood by doing as he has done since I was knee high. He ruffles my short hair so it stands in all directions. Mother laughs as she flattens it down again. Maker's sake, I'm twenty-six not five! But it is comforting. Makes it seem as we are just wandering over the fields to tell Evelyn, supper is ready and she would have to come home now, how I wish that were still the case but it is not to be._

_We mount up, and the available Brothers Trevelyan hit the road to rescue a lost sister._

* * *

When was the last time he felt so alone? As far back as he could remember he had always been surrounded by his family. His surviving siblings: William, Eleanor, Thomas, Richard and Evelyn. Mother and Father, endless Aunts and Uncles, his two dozen or so cousins. There was always someone with the Trevelyan blood around.

But now, Thomas was dead. Evelyn probably was too if she had been at the Conclave, if not she was still missing. Richard was battling through the lyrium addiction and dealing with being discharged from the Templars. Eleanor and that stuck up noble she had married were now settled in Starkhaven. That left, William the heir, already fighting desperately to advance the family name to comfort his poor parents in their grief.

And what about him? What had become of little Henry Trevelyan. The last born child. Perpetually muddy, knees scraped, hair a mess with, twigs, hay, grass or leaves stuck in it. Always in trouble with his governess and tutors. Why be in a classroom when you could be outside, where you and the other "Spares" could run about being the heroes of old! Why wait for dinner when the kitchens were so easy to sneak in and out of. We were never expected to amount to anything beyond reasonable positions in the Chantry or the Order. You don't need much education for that. He could read, write, knew his history and the Chant (mostly). Why coop him up in a classroom, if I'm to be for the Order why not leave me be in the practice ring outside? Rattling his wooden training sword against his cousin's. Flailing his shield about uselessly to the consternation of his instructor. He practically jumped for joy the day the old man had wrenched it out of his grip and handed him two practice daggers. Finally something that felt natural to him. The only advantage he had ever had over his training mates was his speed and now he could use it.

Slowly the crying stops and he lets out a morose chuckle. It makes him laugh that the Leaders ask him his opinion on Inquisition matters. Had the Spymaster not looked into his background yet? Nothing noteworthy or inspiring. Could the Commander not see his soldiering skills were lacking? He was more than competent with his blades, had a decent grasp of tactics but it didn't make him a leader. Surely the Ambassador could see he didn't have the flowery charm for the Game? She had already had to step between him and the Marquis Durellion to maintain their place in Haven. He went to save one sibling, now he may have lost two. What he had was a throbbing, glowing marked hand. They think he can save the world? Maker help us.

"Enough! Dammit!" he needs to rest, the trip to the Coast will be long. Finished with his tears for now, He quiets himself. His frustration still remains however leading him to launch his pillow at the opposite wall, without thinking. Too late, he watches as it bounces off onto the nearby end table and hits a half full goblet to the floor with a loud clatter. He gets up to fix the mess, hopefully no one hear-

"Trevelyan?"

Shit

He straightens himself, and unlocks his door to the Seeker.

"Pentaghast. Apologies I knocked over a goblet, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Your eyes are red".

"Nothing gets past you does it?"

Her eye twitches, he's hit a nerve without trying to, curious. She ignores him and asks why he is crying with her customary tact.

"I, well," he stumbles over his words before a thought crystallizes in his head, She needs to know, they all do, He is a mortal man with a family and other earthly concerns. Not some fade-sent champion of the Maker. They should know that he is one of them, glowing green mark aside. They shouldn't expect miracles. He clears his throat.

"My brother was with me at the Conclave, with all that has happened, I haven't had chance to properly mourn him".

Her eyes widen in response. "I'm sorry for your loss Trevelyan. I will leave you be."

"Thank you, I will be well. We are for the Coast tomorrow to meet this Bull. I will not let it distract me. I will be well". Who is he trying to convince here?

She smiles at him, a truly sad smile, like she knows something he doesn't. "You will be, not as soon as you think, but you will be. Until tomorrow Trevelyan".

He watches her leave for her room and returns to bed, trying to get comfortable. There is work to be done, new allies to be made for the Inquisition. As he drifts of to sleep his thoughts turn to the red haired Spymaster. Her network of spies and informants spread wide across Thedas on both sides of the war, perhaps she can find his sister?

Perhaps there is hope after all?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

He sighed as he reread his letter. Perhaps he should have taken up Lady Montilyet's offer to contact his family for him. No on second thought that would not do, his brother would tan his hide for the cheek of not writing himself. Still it wasn't a bad effort.

_To Lord William Edward Trevelyan_

_Dear Brother,_

_I hardly know where to begin. I apologize for not writing more since the events of the Conclave. You were witness to enough of my childhood canings to know that letters and writing were not my strong suit._

_There are two matters to discuss. The first is our sister, the second is this situation I find myself in with the Inquisition._

_Using the resources of the Inquisition, we have managed to establish that Evelyn was not at the Conclave! However there are still no leads on where she may be. The Inquisition spare whatever agents we can to further the search but we are pulled in so many directions we cannot do more at the moment._

_Surely she must have heard my name being thrown about by now? Felt safe enough to come out of hiding? Maker's breath I travel with an elven Apostate! There is no persecution of mages here! We cannot afford to turn away any potential allies. I hope and pray she is alive but it is the former thought that will not leave my mind. For this reason I leave it to you to decide if you will pass this information on to our parents. To have cause to hope only to see it cruelly snatched away? I don't know if that is worse than having no hope at all._

_The second matter is the Inquisition. As you have no doubt heard, We have been declared heretics by the remaining members of the Chantry hierarchy. There are three things you must know: firstly, by declaring the Inquisition anew we are following the late Divine's directive. We have not twisted her purpose or legacy. Her intentions were clear, if the Conclave failed, the Inquisition must rise to try to put right the world's current wrongs. The second: I did not murder the Divine. It is true I have no memory of the events of the conclave, but you know me brother. Obedience to the Chantry runs in our blood, that I murdered the Most Holy is unconscionable. Thirdly: Not once has any member of the Inquisition Leadership declared that I am the Herald of Andraste. Where this rumor sprang from we do not know and stopping it is an impossible task._

_The above three reasons are why we are declared heretics and why I need your help. You and Father must speak to the Chantry members of our family. Convince them that we only mean to help close the breach. They must talk to us, so we can form a plan. They are so busy with petty squabbles and grasps for power that they refuse to see the most obvious threat! So gather up our cousins, Aunts and Uncles. You cannot swing a nug at Trevelyan reunions without hitting at least four Chantry Brothers or Sisters! Surely one of them is able to help. Speak to them on our behalf William, convince them to listen at least! We need every ally we can muster. I shall shortly be off to Val Royeaux to speak to the Chantry members but I do not hold out much hope of gaining any favor there._

_Give my love to Mother and Father, tell them I am well and long to be home. Tell Richard he is not alone in his decision, I have seen for myself that other Templars are taking up the fight against lyrium. He can persevere, I know he can._

_I eagerly await your reply._

_Maker watch over our family._

_Until then I remain, _

_Your brother_

_Lord Henry Maxwell Trevelyan._

That should do. It sounded quite authoritative.

Maker's Breath who was he kidding? William knew him too well, but it would have to do, he didn't have time for better. He rolled up the parchment and made his way to the Ambassador's office. Knocking he entered and stood before the desk offering the parchment to her.

"As requested Lady Montilyet, a letter to my brother on behalf of the Inquisition."

"Thank you Lord Trevelyan, that was quick, oh you have forgotten to seal it."

"I thought I would save Leliana the trouble for when she reads it, she may add the seal when she's finished. We will be off to Val Royeaux tomorrow, I thought I should get it done while I had the chance"

"My Lord, I don't think…"

"I do not delude myself Lady Montilyet, that my letters, scarce as they are in number, remain unread by our Spymaster. You have known me barely a month, I must prove myself trustworthy to you all".

She hesitated before smiling up at him, such honestly is rarely found among the players of the Game that she is used to, and perhaps that is why it is so surprising to her. Maker bless him he is trying so hard. He is obviously the youngest child in his family.

"I thank you my Lord for your understanding and patience."

_"A gentleman is ever polite."_ his mother's constant admonishment comes unbidden to mind. He gives a slight bow.

"Before I go Lady Montilyet, may I ask if our families know each other? Your name is familiar."

"I believe everyone of distinction in the Free Marches attends Lady Lucile's summer balls. Perhaps we have met there?"

"Ah of course! Great Aunt Lucille always did love a party."

"I do not recall seeing you there my Lord?"

"I was less than sterling company in my youth and I am not Aunt Lucille's favorite relation for a number of reasons." A smirk crosses his face. A slight twitch of a smile gives away her amusement as well. She thinks him funny. It is comforting, to still be on occasion the Henry Trevelyan that can crack a joke, make a dry comment and leave the room amused.

"Why is that?"

"Do you recall an occasion when her centerpiece was a lattice work of desserts, fruits, cakes and sweets nearly six feet high?"

"Yes it was magnificent, such a shame it collapsed due to the wind!"

He turns to leave, "It was not the wind my Lady," a crooked smile appears on his face as she lets out a most unladylike snort. "It is cruel to make a child stare at pudding for so long and I only have so much patience".

Her laughter followed him out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The Breach had a strangely beautiful quality to it. From his position on the ground he could make out the green and purple hues swirling into it. The rocks floating upwards, how were they held there? How come demons weren't constantly falling from it? How did he get in? How did he get out? Too many questions, he shouldn't look at it so often. The responsibility of it terrified him, as did the questions.

Wait, he had been doing something, hadn't he? He should probably get back to that when he remembered whatever it was.

A shadow fell across his face, "If you've quite finished lying down?"

Ah that was it, sparring with Cullen. In private, of course, wouldn't do for the troops to see how unprepared he was. He was proud to say his dagger skills were impressive enough for the Inquisition Commander. However Cullen had later raised a good point, he couldn't be confined to one style or weapon. Couldn't afford to be caught off guard. He could be disarmed, captured. Learning to use what was available whether it was swords, maces or bows was a must. So here he was in a small clearing outside Haven's gates, flat on his back after a particularly brutal clash of shields.

He blinked, and sat up "You don't hold back, do you Commander?"

Cullen extended his hand, "Perhaps I should until you have improved your skill. That you only had basic training shows."

He bit back the anger he felt at the insult Cullen probably hadn't meant to imply. He took the offered hand and got to his feet. Stepping back from his sparring partner he adjusted the shield on his arm, forcing himself to grip it tighter despite the pain from the Mark shooting up his arm like a thousand knives.

Maker when would it stop hurting? He spoke through gritted teeth. "No, we do not have time. You are right I am familiar with basics of the Templar style. It should not take long to bring me up to scratch."

"But you never took your vows?"

"No. I did not."

Cullen looked him up and down as he got back into the correct fighting stance, shield angled slightly down, blade raised. "You were what, sixteen when you began training? I understand it can be a difficult life, to dedicate yourself wholly to the good of others. Maybe the Order insisting on taking recruits when they are so young is not a good policy, they do not know themselves, may not be able to see beyond their own desires." Suddenly Cullen was in front of him, making a jab for his abdomen with his sword. A surprise attack, as the shield hid most of the movement until the last possible second.

Ha, _"Unlucky Commander,"_ that was too familiar. It was a favorite tactic of the arms instructor in the Trevelyan household and when your own preferred style was two blades, well you learned to develop sharp eyes and fast reactions. He stepped back and to the side allowing Cullen's momentum to take him forward. When he drew level with him, he barged the good Commander to the ground with his shield.

He walked over to help his slightly winded opponent up. Thinking it over He realized Cullen had again probably not meant to give offence with that remark. No denying it anymore, Cullen was struggling, he'd been irritable all day snapping at soldiers who weren't quick enough to follow his directives. By the time he dragged Henry away from his lunch with a few of the others and out for practice the tension around him had been palpable. He thought at one point Josephine was going about to come up with some excuse for him so he could stay inside and out of harm's way!

Should he mention Richard? Maybe if he knew that there were others who had made the decision he had, would this help him and anyway should he be offering advice on so personal a matter? He had known the Commander for seven weeks and they had formed a sort of camaraderie between them, especially against the pompous Chancellor Roderick. He had never seen him like this. He was an exacting teacher to his recruits, but he was never harsh. Cullen corrected their flaws with brutal efficiency, he had to, their lives depended on it, but he had never once brought up their background as a tool to use against them like he'd been doing today.

He pulled Cullen up and they began circling each other again. They stepped to towards each other, trading blows, he thought Cullen seemed calmer. That was until another vicious blow rattled his shield causing the pain in his arm to double. He could feel the burning heat flare again, the green pulses were becoming visible even through his gloves. What was happening, was it because he was, technically in battle, was it reacting to perceived danger? Shit, he could lose control here, this couldn't carry on. They were too far from camp, from Solas who was the only one with any noteworthy knowledge on the Mark and how to tame it.

He dropped his sword, "There was only one thing about the life that made me hesitate Cullen and that was the lyrium."

Cullen jumped, stopping his planned assault. His face went pale, sword falling to his side as he stared at the younger man.

"I was three years into my training when I had to escort my brother Richard home. Officially he was honorably discharged, because he was wounded in battle. In reality he could no longer withstand the lyrium and refused to take it. The nightmares, the pain he suffers must be truly horrific but he is fighting it, fighting for control of his own life. I know there are others with the same goal a few cousins included. Seeing him, them, I became disillusioned with the life and resigned from my position. It wasn't a question of me not wanting to live a good life or help others. Six months after we returned to our estate Richard told me that there were other ways I could serve the Maker, I did not need to be bound by lyrium to do so. I am grateful for his advice and even more grateful he left the order, if he had not, he would have been at the Conclave with his fellow Templars and I would have lost two brothers that day. Something for you to consider, Commander?"

Cullen looks dumbfounded, but quickly recovers. He cocks his head to the side looking at him in a different light, "And to think we were worried you weren't sharp enough for all this Herald." He shakes his head, to clear his thought. "Perhaps we have done enough for today?"

He flexes his hand, the pain has faded. He grins, picking up the sword again, "Shield up Commander, unless you want another scar for you lip. I'm told the ladies like it!"

A bark of laughter escapes said, usually stern, Commander, perhaps he could work small miracles after all.

Another hour later, aching and exhausted, they talk as they make their way back to Haven's Chantry.

"So you are still going to speak to this Magister in Redcliffe?"

"Yes. We head out in two days' time and I don't think we have much choice. Honestly, I've no idea where we stand with the Templars after what happened in Val Royeaux."

"He truly struck a Revered Mother?"

"Not personally, he had one of his men do it. That was the most disturbing part, they did it without question. I know that obedience is the core of the Order but still? To just strike her, Cullen there was barely a crowd there, maybe fifty at most, and I even don't think they were listening to her. What was the point of such a display? Surely not heeding the Chantry's call would've been just as powerful a message?"

"Obedience is valued in the order that is true, but to just follow blindly without question is madness." Cullen shakes his head.

"Thinking back, there was one knight, I think he was about my age maybe older. He asked the Lord Seeker to listen to us. Barrow? Barrett? I didn't catch his name. Hopefully he is not alone, there may be others willing to listen but we should speak to the magister, if only to get to the bottom of the situation in Redcliffe. What if we don't? We seal the breach only to find the mages absorbed into a dangerously organized cult on our doorstep?"

A rare smile graces Cullen's face, "That is the first time I have heard anyone talk of plans beyond sealing the breach. You would think we were doomed no matter what we attempt from the mood in camp and around the war table. It's good to hear it come from you as well, I know you do not consider yourself as part as the leadership, so to speak, but we value your opinion and you have done much good. Others in your position would have seen to their own needs, not raced around the Hinterlands chasing rams for food, finding healers, blankets and whatnot for refugees. Truly we are grateful for your involvement with the Inquisition."

He shakes his head at this to distract from the redness tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It is a strange failing of his, criticism he can withstand but praise can easily undo him. In a family of six boisterous children it is hard to distinguish yourself as someone has achieved it before. William mastered a horse a five. Eleanor was an accomplished archer even at seven. Richard and Thomas were the apples of their tutors' eyes. A learned child is a blessing from the Maker and all that. True praise was a rarity, for him.

Cullen carries on, "I will not lie to you I would prefer the Templars to aid us in this endeavour. Mages who are currently drunk on their own freedom and power, I shudder to think…forgive me I meant no disrespect."

"Cullen after what you have been through at Kirkwall, I understand your reservations and I share some of them but I think it would be foolish to overlook this."

Another pause, they are just outside the Chantry doors.

"Has Leliana, found any trace of your sister, forgive me I don't know her name?"

"Evelyn, her name is Evelyn. And no, not yet."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

He kept to the shadows as he made his way to the small huts on the western side of the Haven encampment. It was late, but the sunset still cast some light over the ramshackle buildings and he really didn't want to meet anyone in his current state.

His left arm was in in a makeshift sling. Something was not right. While He wouldn't describe it as painful this new sensation was unnerving. It was numb and He could barely move it, but occasionally prickles of energy would roll through his muscles causing him to tense. The only way he could describe it, was be to say it was akin to electrical shocks. He was no Circle scholar, but if he had to guess, the more magic he was being exposed too, the more rifts he sealed, the more the Mark seemed to feed and grow.

He believed whole heartedly, that in recruiting the Mages, he had done the right thing for the Inquisition, but not himself. If he had only his own survival in mind, flooding the mark with more magic, seemed more than dangerous. If he had wanted to save himself, Templars suppressing the magic, was probably the better idea. There was no point in wavering now the decision was made. He had stood up for the mage allies before the Leaders and he would not falter in his convictions.

_He had barely set foot inside the Chantry when Cullen started on him and while he wished this could wait until tomorrow, he knew it couldn't. Drawing a breath, and made his way towards him. He was flanked on either side by Cassandra and Leliana, Josephine stood by Cullen's side as they met in the middle of the Chantry. Out of the corner of his eye. He noted Dorian lurking in the background listening in, but chose to leave him be. In his eyes the Mage had more than proved himself._

_To say the Commander was not pleased would be an understatement._

_"You offered them a full alliance?!"_

_Really they should be doing this in the War Room, anyone could hear them in the hallway, surely they should keep their arguments from the troops it could only lower morale, especially that of their newest recruits. _

_He was tired, he was aching. The visons of the future if they failed, if he failed would not leave him. "We need help to seal the breach. The Templars ruled themselves out. We went for the Mages and now we have them." _

_"You have no idea of the chaos this could unleash, mages with free licence, what were you thinking?" _

_Josephine looks startled at the turn the conversation is taking. "We cannot rescind the offer an alliance. At best it would make the Inquisition appear incompetent, at worse tyrannical."_

_"Did you not realise you had the advantage Trevelyan? King Alistair practically offered them to you on a plate. We could have named any terms and they would've had little choice but to accept. _

_"And make more enemies, when what we need are comrades? We cannot fight a war on all fronts."_

_"Mark my words they will use this to further their own cause. You have handed them the opportunity to run riot with their demands, as the world will perceive they have the Inquisitions backing."_

_Oh he had had enough of this! He may still be young, but he was no longer untried, or untested. They hadn't seen what he had seen. Didn't see how far they could fall, how far the world could fall if the Breach remained. _

_He drew himself to full height to look him straight in the eye. "It is their only opportunity Cullen to prove that they can be trusted. They have too much to lose by playing us false. Turn on us and they will be condemned in every corner of Thedas." _

_Cassandra stepped in. "We cannot afford to second guess our people, none of us were there Cullen."_

_"I have seen the future if we fail, Cullen. We need more information on this Elder One. He assassinated Empress Celene, but I do not know how he managed to do it. In the chaos a demon army will march across Thedas unopposed. Mages will be the least of our concerns if this comes to pass." He tried to keep out the fear that crept in unchecked into his voice. Fear and pleading. Maker, if he thought the weight of the breach on his shoulders was crippling, it was nothing compared to the future that could be. _

_Cullen seemed to realise he had pushed him too far. He spoke more calmly and offered his hand out, "I apologise, Trevelyan. Cassandra is correct. We asked for allies, you delivered them. We have plans to make, shall we adjourn to the War Room? Will you join us?" _

_"I would be honoured."_

_Two hours later, they had a plan. Josephine would make the necessary arrangements for the supply of lyrium. Leliana would dispatch her agents, with her new target designated as the mysterious Elder One. Cullen and Cassandra would prepare the soldiers for the march to summit. They had a week to prepare before the veteran mages would arrive._

_There was nothing left for him to do now but rest and wait._

Ha, rest, as if that would be achievable tonight. Destination reached he knocked as loudly as he dared on the Elf's door, "Solas?"

There were shuffling sounds and then the door opened a crack. The Elf stared at him a moment before opening the door and allowing him to enter. The hut was small, the furniture sparse. There was a bed, a table and a chair. Books were piled up on every available surface and around the bed.

"It is late Herald, what is the matter?"

"Henry, Solas, or at least Trevelyan."

"As you wish Trevelyan. Your Mark?"

He nodded, "I can barely move my arm. It started going numb after we stepped out from the time rift. Sometimes I get like, a lightning shock running up and down my arm. It's never been like that before. It's normally a throbbing pain, like someone is repeatedly squeezing my arm."

"May I see? Can you remove your coat?"

He did as Solas bid, lifting his arm out the sling and removing his coat. As soon as his arm was free it flopped uselessly to his side. Gently Solas lifted it up again, tilting it to get a better view, prodding his slender fingers into his flesh. He had been at it for about five minutes when he spoke up.

"When you close a rift, what does it feel like?"

"I can't really describe it. People say it looks like I'm pushing away the rift, but to me if feels like, I don't know, like I'm pulling it towards me, into me. When I'm connected to a rift by the energy, I feel like I'm searching for something but I don't know what."

"Interesting. I can't give you a diagnosis. And honestly? I don't think there will be anything new I can say or do about it until we see what effect sealing the breach will have on it."

"Thank you anyway Solas."

"I do have what remains of the restorative potion I gave you when you were unconscious. You can see if it will help? I also have a simple Elfroot concoction for the pain. You may take them both if you wish."

"I will Solas, thanks again."

He struggled to put his coat back on until Solas helped him. When he was done he passed him two small bottles and Henry slipped them into his pocket.

"I heard what you did for the mages. You should be congratulated for your vision. They will be powerful allies."

He smiled, praise was rarely earned from Solas. A strange one that Elf, but Henry liked him. He gave a quick bow and made his way back to his room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**_Hello,_**

**_I've been remiss in not thanking the people who've taken the time to read, review, and favorite and follow my story, so thank you. What has started out as me just getting all these head canons out of my mind so I can sleep, now has more than 500 hits, it's weird. I have no intention of stopping anytime soon as I've found the writing of this quite therapeutic._**

**_So thanks again, and please feel free to point out any grammar /canon errors I make. Sometimes I reread this so much I can't see the wood for the trees._**

**_All the best,_**

**_Cali._**

_To Lord William Edward Trevelyan._

_Dear Brother,_

_In a few days' time, the Inquisition and our Mage allies will attempt to close the Breach at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The plan is simple, we will flood the Mark I bear with magic we believe equal to what created the tear, and we hope this will be enough to seal it. If you have received this missive, then what I feared has come to pass, my body could not withstand the magical energy invoked and I have not survived._

_I will not lie, I am terrified but I do this most willingly. If there was ever a time for me to live up to our motto, to be "Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed", this is it. Maker's chosen or not, only I have the mark, only I can do this. I would ask that to honor my memory, you continue to aid the Inquisition where possible. The Free Marches Chantry actually accept our letters now, some member's even reply! I don't know how you managed it but we're grateful regardless, I'm sorry I wasn't able to thank you in person._

_Console our parents as best you can. I never meant to add to their grief and worries. Tell them I die a proud Free Marcher of House Trevelyan, grateful to have been their son, and your brother._

_I love you all._

_Lord Henry Maxwell Trevelyan._

_P.S Should you have a memorial for me and Cousin Albrecht attends, do break his jaw on my behalf. He won't stop running his mouth off at Inquisition soldiers. I keep having to apologize to everyone, it's getting annoying._

Three short paragraphs, he should write more but he cannot find anymore words. He rolls the parchment and defiantly seals it. He wants no one to know his fears. Now who to leave the task to? In the chaos he predicts will come following his demise, the Nightingale's birds will be the swiftest option.

Light flurries of snow are hitting the ground outside the Chantry as he seeks out the red haired Spymaster. As he approaches the tent as he can see she is in discussion with one of her agents. He knocks on the main post supporting the canopy to announce his presence, sneaking up on Leliana is never advisable.

"Should you not be resting?" She eyes his arm, curiously. It is as he thought, his night time visit to Solas had not gone unnoticed.

"Taking a stroll around Haven is hardly strenuous Leliana. Do you have a moment?" with a swift nod her attendant is dismissed and they are alone. "How can I help Herald? If it is about your sister, I am sorry, I have no further news."

He never bothered trying to get Leliana to call him by his name, she would only ever refer to him as "Herald". It seemed to be her method of coping with the loss of Justinia. If the Divine had to die, better to do so in exchange for Andraste's Herald, not a random stranger.

"Thank you, but it isn't about Evelyn. It's about me." He pauses a second, trying to get his thoughts in order. "Let's be honest, we don't know how I will be affected by the Breach. If, if I do not survive it, would you please see this letter gets to my brother?" He holds out the parchment to her.

She takes the letter with a grim smile, "You are prepared to do this despite fearing you will fail?"

"I don't see any other unfortunate people walking round with glowing hands."

She smiled at him, and he was struck by the fact it was a truly kind smile. Not her usual tightly drawn smirk when she is entertained by some foolish remark or action of his.

"Should you fall, I will continue the search for your sister. For all you have done for our cause, it is the least I could do."

"I don't know what to… thank you Leliana."

"I will pray for your success and do all I can to ensure it. Your archery is much improved, it would be such a waste of potential if we could not continue you lessons."

"It would. You are an excellent teacher. I could probably give my eldest sister Eleanor a decent challenge now."

His solemn duty with Leliana discharged, he wandered back towards his rooms. Harritt had had new armour crafted for him and he wished to try it out before they made for the Breach. He noticed Josephine outside her office, in discussion with a hooded dwarf. She caught his eye and gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, then a gesture summoning him over. He made his way to her. He always had time for Josephine, she was unfailingly polite and kind to everyone, be they Elf, Qunari, Dwarf or lost Lordlings who stumble out of the Fade, hands aglow. She was obviously the eldest child in her family, accustomed to looking out for her younger siblings and keeping them out of out of scrapes. He bit back a laugh, this adventure probably qualified as more than a "scrape." The dwarf noticed him as he approached and made her goodbyes.

"Who was she Ambassador?"

"Lady Corbin is with the merchant's guild. I have reached out to them in order to secure a supply of lyrium for the mages. She has mentioned that this has raised the Chantry's ire."

"What have we done now?"

"Access to lyrium makes us, rather more formidable, shall we say? We are becoming more of a challenge and sadly the remaining Grand Clerics are busy trying to consolidate their own power. Not comforting the masses."

What are they playing at, would none of them ever look up? "The Chantry should be a place of hope and it's needed more than ever." He shakes his head, "Not another group scrambling about for their own ends."

Josephine nods and turns to enter her office. He follows close behind, listening. Once inside, he takes a seat on the bench in corner.

"That must be its' strength again. The Chant does much to bridge nations. There is little else but it that ties Orlais, Ferelden, Nevarra, Antiva, even Rivain to a common cause."

"Have they truly promoted such peace?" Now he was in the thick of it, it seemed obvious that the Chantry's power was waning. The Circle's started falling years ago, the Templars' were pulling at their leashes. And now in such a perilous time, was the Chantry inspiring the people to come together? No. The remaining clerics, who would never have stood a chance at gaining any authority before the Conclave, made mad dashes for power and directed their anger towards the Inquisition, the only force trying to do something that would truly aid the people! No, he was running out of patience with Andraste's Church.

Her voices rises and she speaks more sharply, "Andraste's Chant is familiar across kingdoms, a source of many shared customs. That is the crucial point! Common ground is the start of all negotiations, we will not benefit is the Chantry falls."

In the two months he's known the good ambassador, this is a new side of Lady Montilyet. Eye's flashing, cheeks pink. He had thought all politicians to be vain glory chasers only out for themselves. She is different and it is both disconcerting and refreshing. Although, he should have realized she would be defensive of her opinion. Josephine is the only member of the leadership with no battle experience, it shows in how she always offers the more peaceful, if not entirely ethical, solutions to their problems

He tries to explain his opinion better, "It can also be the cause of many fights. Families often fight the hardest."

"Having grown up among four siblings, I concede your point. I've found however that the only time two parties cannot negotiate is when they cease to speak. We must learn to think beyond our own wants to secure peace in Thedas."

"Between sealing the breach and finding the Divine's murderer?" Amazing, she truly believes they can be force for good. He rises from the bench smiling, he will miss these conversations. "How did someone so lovely and selfless ever go into Orlesian politics?"

She blushes and stammers, waving away his complement. He doesn't say any more. He had not meant to embarrass her. As he is considering what he just said and more importantly why he said it, She asks him a question. One he's been asked a thousand times before: what happened in the Fade, did Andraste truly shield him from harm?

"Will my reply change your response? Tell them I don't know if it was Andraste any more than they do."

Like everyone else who asks, she is not satisfied by the answer, he can tell, but she lets him go with a courteous smile and a slight bow.

He leaves the office determined once again to make for his quarters, only to run into Dorian, amused grin fixed on his face.

"There you are! You should probably head down to the training grounds my friend, Cassandra and one of your mages are having a bit of a disagreement."

Since when were they his mages? "How much of a disagreement?"

"Well he's not bleeding yet, if that's what you're asking."

So much for not doing anything too strenuous!

If he thought Cullen had anger issues, he had nothing on Cassandra in full flow. He made a mental note, to never offer to spar with her again when she was clearly frustrated. No wonder Cullen had been smirking when he overheard him make the offer! Trying to reason with her while she had a blade in her hand was also definitely up there as one of his most stupid ideas.

"I'm just saying" he says while spinning out of her war and trying to flank her, "that fighting with them will only make it worse." She adjusts her position and strikes out. He barely parries her blade in time.

A disgusted snort escapes her. "This is not the Circle, they are here as our allies! They need to get used to what that means. It is your doing after all." The shield barge that accompanies that statement, forces him back a more than a few yards, his feet dig into the ground offering some purchase. He sees her shoulder drop and knows that the lunge is coming. Using her shield, He pushes himself back and out of her reach.

"I had to think on my feet and I did what I could!"

Cassandra looks at him confusedly, before a look of realization flickers across her face, "Oh I do sound like I'm blaming you don't I?" He dives out the way of another well-aimed lunge. "I do not."

"You have a funny way of showing it!" Rolling over he gets to his knees, looking at the Seeker incredulously. He's landed funny, he can feel it.

She pauses, ignoring his antics. "I don't disapprove. In fact you did well. You made a decision when it needed to be made. I wish I could say it was my doing."

She thinks he did well, recruiting the mages? She was for the Templars as much as Cullen. Momentarily stunned, he forgets to try to get up. "We wouldn't be here if you hadn't stood up to the Chantry."

She nods and sheathes her sword. Oh thank the Maker. "You are being kind."

"Are we done here? Please tell me we're done. I can't feel my leg." She laughs as she pulls him up.

Stretching his leg, one hand braced on Cassandra's shoulder he notices a commotion brewing out of the corner of his eye. He directs Cassandra's attention to the cause.

Two caravans attended by at least 30 Inquisition outriders are making their way towards their gates. As it draws closer he can make out the heraldic symbols on the side.

The veteran mages have arrived, time for the Inquisition to march.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

In the darkness, something cold and wet trickles down the side of face. Is he crying again? He hopes not, there is no time for tears. Closing his eyes and opening them again, he tries to clear his vision. Ah he's not crying, it's snowing. How long has he been here? Above him he can see the moon from his position on ground in what he guesses is an abandoned mine shaft. It was not visible earlier, so it must have been a few hours at least. Too long. _Get up! Get up right now, you need to move, they are blind, they need to know what you saw!_ Gingerly he forces himself to sit up and feels his ribs protest. They are fractured at least but everything else looks intact.

One of Cullen's lectures on strategy rings through his head, _"A commander should always be aware of his advantages and disadvantages, chiefly the supplies he can rely on and those that can be gained on the field."_ So what did he have? His advantage was that no one could possibly thought he had survived that avalanche of rock. It was also to his disadvantage, neither his enemies nor his allies would be searching for him. In regards to his supplies, His armor was in one piece, the druffalo hide overcoat would offer him some protection against the cold. His blades had not fared well. One lost and one snapped, but better a broken blade than no blade at all. Most precious of all: one intact flask, a healing potion, albeit small one. Probably not enough to restore him to full strength, but enough to dull the pain and make it easier to move. As He drank the contents and waited for the concoction to take affect he thought on the previous day. How quickly had joyful triumph been wrenched from them, from him?

_The Trevelyan's are famed for their horsemanship throughout the Free Marches. So with an expert eye, I can tell that though the horses are jittery as we make our way to the temple, their training under Dennett has been exemplary and it is shining through their fear._

_The mood is far too solemn so I mention the horses to Cassandra who is riding beside me, if only to break this interminable silence. "They are fine mounts are they not?" Said silence persists, "If they hadn't been drilled by Master Dennett, I believe we'd be walking. It's a good job you convinced him to join us."_

_"Master Dennett is lucky you were there Herald, the Seeker's usual methods of persuasion are a lot stabbier! I have the book to prove it." I cannot hold in my chuckle, which earns me no favor from the stern Seeker._

_She turns to glare at Varric, "Enough Dwarf!" before her sharp gaze returns to me, "And you, focus on the task before you." _

_A mirthless march to my death it is then._

_The Mark is already reacting by the time we reach the steps and it only grows brighter the further in we go until finally, I stand before the Breach. _

_Cassandra rallies the troops while, Solas issues his final instructions._

_"Focus past the Herald! Let his will draw from you!" I don't know what he means but it is too late to ask now I suppose._

_The energy it throws off is extraordinary as I make my way towards it, one step at a time. The light it casts is far too bright so I have to raise my right hand to shield my eyes. The energy rolls over me, making my hair stand on end, and my spine tingle. I think I'm close enough now so I raise my marked hand, the magic is pulsing at my fingertips and yes here comes the shock as the connection is made. This sensation is so much worse than sealing other rifts. My skin is on fire, my bones seem fit to burst. It starts in my arm but it spreads down and across my chest. It reaches my head and all I can hear is buzzing. Why am I surprised? This is what I was expecting after all. The tug of war seems never ending, and I am losing the will to fight it, I just want the pain to end. _

_Then there is a new sensation. Out of nowhere, the ground seems firmer, the pressure lessens allowing me to stand taller. There is a warmth swelling upwards throughout me, like sinking into a hot bath after a long day in the field. Weightless. The noise in my head lessens and I can make out voices, chanting. The Mages! Their magic is working, giving me new found strength. The pain from before is retreating back down my arm and the breach doesn't feel as hungry anymore. But I am! I doubt it's visible to anyone else, but it's as if I can see the Mark's energy overwhelming the tear, consuming it, this is familiar just like the smaller rifts up and down the Hinterlands. It's now or never Trevelyan! I make a fist and wrench my arm back. _

_The ground lifts from my feet as I'm blown backwards. The connection is severed, I am free. I shake my head to get my bearings back and I struggle to my knees, too terrified to look up. An arm slips under my shoulder, pulling me up. Cassandra is regarding me with unguarded amazement. _

_"You did it."_

_She is right, and what's more, I'm still alive!_

The pain dulled, and movement finally possible, he gets to his feet. Holding onto his ribs, he makes his way down the tunnel, his breathing harsh. Every few steps requires him to place his hand on the wall to steady himself. He makes good progress and the wind is getting stronger, he must be closer to an exit, but then his luck changes again. There are noises echoing down the passageway. He grips his remaining blade, and prepares himself mentally. There is nowhere to hide, to fight is his only option.

The tunnel widens out, and there are a cluster of demons in the middle. He assess his options. The wraiths can be easily dispatched, weak as he is now they are still nowhere near his level. The shade is a problem, but only if he has to fight it while fending off wraith strikes. So Wraiths' first, then Shade. He braces himself against the wall, getting ready for push off into his assault. But clearly today is not a day that fortune has chosen to favor him. Something beneath him crunches and in the tunnel the sounds magnify.

Oh for fuck's sake.

They make for him instantly and he bounds from the wall. He dispatches one wraith, but he has lost the element of surprise, and the remaining ones are out of his reach. He dodges two blasts, barely and in doing so loses his last blade. He couldn't have landed in a worse position, either. The Shade looms above him, those terrible claws preparing to rip into his flesh.

He isn't thinking when he raises his hand to stop creature, pure instinct maybe? Whatever the cause, it's the correct manoeuvre. Energy bursts from the Mark concentrating into a small orb that rises above the combatants. It expands and contracts while emitting that low ominous tone. The final flash blinds him momentarily and when he can see again he is alone. No demons.

Had he just created a rift? What has he become?

_The mood at Haven is unbelievable, indescribable unless you are actually there to witness it. The Mages and former Templars, elves and humans dancing and drinking together. Laughter, relief the sheer joy in the air is palpable. There is even a rumor going round that Cassandra was seen laughing on the return journey. I think Varric started it. Or maybe Dorian, they share a wicked sense of humor. _

_The Leadership has assembled on the upper level just outside the Chantry doors. We join them, Cullen and Cassandra immediately start to go through the details of the sealing. Josephine is fretting over something on Threnn's table. _

_Leliana draws me to one side, "Your letter was not needed it seems."_

_I laugh, "Not on this occasion."_

_"Well enjoy the celebrations while you can, there is still work to be done but it wait till tomorrow." _

_Josephine has finished whatever she was doing and approaches with two goblets in hand, passing one to me, the other to Leliana. "I'm so sorry, it is the best I could do at such short notice. I should have wrote to the merchants in Val Royeaux sooner, they could have at least sent…"_

_I exchanged an amused smirk with Cullen. The Ambassador does like to ramble when stressed, and she tends to stress about the strangest things in the grand scheme of things._

_"It's fine Josie." Leliana raises her glass to me, "To your continued health, Herald."_

_The others follow suit. The soldiers who have gathered on the lower level are observing us. I turn and raise my own to them, "To our first victory!" _

_They cheer in response and again the feeling in my heart is indescribable._

_The sun has just set as the celebrations continue. I've done the rounds with Cullen, thanking as many people as possible for their aid. My palms are raw from shaking so many hands. _

_Josephine also has welcome news for me, the remaining Revered Mothers of the Free Marches Chantry are willing to meet with the Inquisition. Even better they have no qualms about the parlay taking place in Ostwick. A chance to return home, even for a short while, is music to my ears, I cannot stop grinning like a child._

_"And you wish me to attend that is why you are telling me this?"_

_"Of course my Lord. You have proven quite the diplomat when pushed." _

_"You overestimate my ability but thank you Lady Montilyet, I cannot tell you how much it means to me."_

_"I completely understand, I too miss my own family. If I had the opportunity to visit I would take advantage. We can go over the details tomorrow, but not too early, you must be exhausted. Cassandra said you collapsed after you closed the breach? Have you been seen by the healers?"_

_"Please do not worry, Solas checked me over and I am intact. I'll admit I was tired until I stepped through the gates. The mood is infectious."_

_"That is good to hear, until tomorrow then, my Lord."_

_I bow and we go our separate ways. She to talk to Leliana while I return to the upper level, still basking in the atmosphere. I can hear Bull's Chargers attempting to teach a song to the Inquisition troops, as Dorian and Varric are placing bets on the next person to fall over. _

_I hear footsteps and looks over my shoulder to see Cassandra walking towards me._

_"Solas confirms that the heavens are scarred but calm. There are reports of lingering rifts, but this was a victory of alliance and word of your heroism has spread."_

_I rub the back of my head, again with the praise. I need a lesson on how to accept compliments graciously. "Wasn't just me, luck put me at the center."_

_"A strange kind of luck, I'm not sure if we need more or less." She smiles and we are content to stand in companionable silence enjoying the moment. _

_I raise my head to the sky, searching for where the breach used to be. I'm no fool, there is still much the Inquisition must accomplish before they can sheathe the power they have invoked, but for now I feel lighter. Lowering my gaze, the mountains catch my eye. There are pinpricks of light flowing over it, torches? There must be a thousand at least, what's going on? Are they pilgrims wanting shelter, wanting to celebrate with us? We didn't encounter any on the road back._

_The sound of metal rings through the air as shields are picked up and armor is strapped on. There is erratic movement below me as troops start to rush about. One of them is Cullen, dashing to the gates, bellowing orders._

_"FORCES APPROACHING! TO ARMS!"_

_The others are already there in discussion as I arrive at the gates. _

_"It's a massive force, the bulk of it is over the mountain."_

_"Under what banner?"_

_"None."_

_"None! How can that…"_

_Josephine is cut off as sudden impact shakes the gate. I unsheathe my daggers and step closer._

_It happens again, this time it's accompanied by the least threatening voice I can imagine. "I can't come in unless you open!" I look to Cullen who is already making his way to my side, together we open up._

_A giant of a man stands before us, surrounded by corpses, but before we can react he falls. Behind him there is a boy, barely visible under a monster of a hat, blades drawn. We approach cautiously. How could this scrap of lad taken down this many armored invaders?_

_"My name is Cole." His voice is hauntingly soft. "I came to warn you, to help you. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know that."_

_Was that vein in Cullen's head always there? "What's going on, what is this?"_

_"The Templars come to kill you."_

_"Templars?! Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? They attack blindly?" For all his disagreements with the Order, Cullen has always spoken of them respectfully. The barely contained disgust and fury that layers his voice, is unnerving in the extreme._

_The strange boy continues, "The Red Templars went to the Elder one." He points at me, "You know him, and he knows you. You took his mages."_

_I am about to argue that I took no one's mages when the boy points to the hill top just beyond the lake. There are two figures atop it, one greatly tall than the other, much broader._

_"He's very angry that you took his mages."_

_The intruders are now visible pouring out of mountain crevices and across the icy lake. _

_"Cullen! What do we do? Give me a plan!"_

_"The trebuchets, hit their forces before they can all cross the lake. Haven isn't a fortress. Win the field, win the battle."_

_I don't need to be told twice, I turn and make for the trebuchet, the boy beside me, as others make their way through the gates to aid us. _

He reaches the end of the tunnel, and moves out on to a small platform. There are no visible ladders and even if there is a safer way down he doesn't have the time to find it. There is the beginnings of a blizzard in the air, walking through it is not the wisest idea, but he must catch up. He braces himself for the fall and drops down into the snow. At least there is only one direction they could have gone in.

There is something sticking out of the snow a few yards in front of him. He plods towards it. Is a cart. Just the cart though, its burden must have been valuable if they decided to carry it with them. Either they're carrying it on their own backs or another cart, it won't make their journey any swifter. Hope flickers in his chest. Maybe he can catch up to the stragglers.

He clutches his coat together as tight as possible and carries on.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

He's been trekking through the snow for about two hours maybe more, when he finds the remains of a campfire. Reluctantly he brings his hand out of the warm cocoon under his arm and shoves it into the charred ground. Nothing, no heat. Sighing he wipes his hand on his coat and shoves it back into his armpit.

Onwards then, alone, with nothing but his memories for company.

* * *

_I don't think I've ever felt as angry since I've joined the Inquisition. Not in the face of Cassandra's interrogation. Not when I witnessed the remnants of the war in the Hinterlands. Not even when I was blasted in the future, saw first-hand the destruction that this Elder One had wrought. Fear had been the emotion of those days._

_When you fight demons, you don't think about what they were before. But with the Templars, I could picture them, the families that would mourn them. This could have been me, could have been my brothers. I have as many cousins, both close and distant in the Templar ranks, as I do the Chantry. If I cut them down here would I even know? How would I recognize them underneath the monstrous form they had taken? I stomp out the thought. There is no time for sentiment. I unleash the unrelenting rage I am feeling, driving my blades into weak points in their armor. Blood splashes my face, I do not care._

_The elevated position of this trebuchet forces the enemy to use the channels on either side. It makes containing them easier. This battle is different. Before it was if there had been unspoken rule, that I was to be protected at all costs. When we fought, the pattern would be the same, warriors in front of me, Mages or archers covering my back. The countless times, people had taken a blow for me, when healing magic and spare potions were showered on me first. No more. Now I am at the forefront, anything that gets past, and they are few in number, meets the merciless impact of a griffon emblazoned shield. But the anger that fueling my strength is clouding my mind. I'm only seeing what's in front of me, not what's to the side. I nearly take a blow, when an arrow whizzes past me, striking through the visor and downing my assailant. Three cheers for Bianca! The passage is clear, trebuchet firing steadily, we retreat up the pathway. I try to clear my head._

_Through the blood mist a voice reaches my ears. A soldier, whose name I do not know._

"_Herald! The southern trebuchet! It's stopped firing!"_

_I look up, she's right. I shout for those closest to me._

"_Varric, Blackwall, Dorian! With me. The other one's down. Cassandra, can you hold this?"_

_A swift nod and her familiar bark are my answer. "Go!" _

* * *

_We round the corner, see the bodies. There is one soldier left, rapidly being overwhelmed. _

"_Varric!"_

"_I got them!" He fires, swift and sure. One Templar falls, the other takes the shot in the shoulder, but it gives our man enough time to get clear. I am on the glowing knight in an instant. Blades poised in my favoured style, I sink them into his neck, where the helmet does not quite meet the chain mail. _

_The remaining soldier is desperately trying to load the ammunition into place. I rush to help him. "Keep them off us!"_

_The soldier attempts to fire straight away, but I stop him. "The commander said control the field. Aim for the mountain!" He nods, understanding, and together we spin the wheel and bring the machine around._

_It launches and I watch as its' load hits the mountain top. A sweet strike! The rumble of rock can be heard as it dislodges more and more. It floods down onto the enemy. Hundreds of torches go out in an instant. Cheers break out around me, Varric slaps my arm. More troops are rushing towards us to keep the steady fire going. Is it possible, could we win this? Then the cheering comes to a halt._

_You'd think that the first thing I would notice would be the giant fireball, but strangely it's the heat that grabs my attention first. It makes me look up and see said incoming fireball. I turn to run grabbing those nearest to me, half throwing them in front of me. "MOVE NOW!"_

_The trebuchet explodes in a shower of burning wood. A great shadow covers the ground and I look up to see the source. A dragon. Blacker than the night it flies in. Its' piercing cry sets my teeth on edge. We can't fight this here, I don't think we can fight it anywhere. Haven isn't made to withstand this._

"_Get back! BACK TO THE CHANTRY NOW!"_

* * *

_My heart jumps with every beat of the beasts' wings, as we sprint towards the Chantry. Cullen is right it's the only building made of stone, the only thing that might hold. It's utter chaos inside. The cries of the villagers can be heard but only just, over the roar of the flames. We help were we can, distracting incoming foes so they can escape. The others keep them at bay as I rush into the tavern and pull Flissa out from underneath rubble. We barely make it in time to help Adan and Mineave as whatever is in the pots beside them explodes as the flame spreads. I feel a fragment tear in to my cheek. Blood trickles down._

_Outside the Chantry, Threnn is fighting, valiantly, to keep them from the doors. Lightning emanates from behind me, as Dorian leaps into action, blasting them away from our quartermaster. She seems disorientated so I grab her arm and pull her inside the doors. She is led away by soldiers, to see to her wounds._

_Roderick is by the door waving troops in. He is favouring his right side, and I can see the blood blossoming through his robes. He falters, but Cole is there before me. _

"_He tried to stop a Templar, the blade went deep. He's going to die."_

"_Such a charming boy."_

_Cullen rushes up to me, he is pale, and has his own wounds. He shakes his head, "Herald, our position is not good." Really Commander? Like I didn't realise. "That dragon stole back any time we might've gained."_

_Cole speaks up and voices a thought, one I had not considered and now shakes me to my core. "I've seen an Archdemon, I was in the fade, but it looks like that."_

_The Chantry hanging by a thread, Orlais torn apart by Civil War, Templars running riot and now a Blight! This is hopeless. I mean, we have a Warden, but just one Warden. If it won't land, and it doesn't seem to want to, how do we get Blackwall anywhere near it?_

_Meanwhile Cullen and the boy are arguing, well Cullen is. Cole seems unable to state anything other than fact._

"_It's cut a path for that army straight into Haven, they'll kill everyone."_

"_The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald."_

_Me? "I don't care. How do I stop him?"_

"_It won't be easy, he has a dragon."_

_Maker give me patience!_

_Cullen places a hand on my shoulder, I look at him. "Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable." Glancing around I try to take it all in. Our troops are exhausted, the workers are terrified, and I know what Cullen is about to suggest. "The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche, we could turn the remaining trebuchets…"_

"_We're overrun, to hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven?"_

"_We're dying, but we can decide how. Most don't get that choice."_

_I want to shout, they're not getting a choice! We're making it for them! We need to get people out, to spread the word. At best we could take out half the enemy with us, but then what? Leave the rest to mount a surprise attacks across Thedas?_

_Then incredibly, Roderick speaks up with a plan. He is wheezing, he won't survive but he has an idea, so others can. _

"_There's a path, you wouldn't know it unless you walked the summer pilgrimage. You can escape, Andraste must have showed me the way. So I can show you."_

_So there is a way out! I've looked at the maps hundreds of times, but nothing is marked there. That Roderick is the only one that knows, is the only Chantry member still here. Maker, is it true, has fate marked me? _

_I turn to Cullen, "If it wants me, I'll make him fight for it."_

_He nods and motions for troops to come to him, gives them orders to load the trebuchet and return. He looks at me sorrowfully, he knows this is a one way trip._

"_Perhaps, you will surprise it?" Maybe, I surprise myself a lot lately, may as well surprise a dragon._

"_Inquisition follow Chancellor Roderick. Take only what is necessary!"_

_I take one last look around, Leliana is stood at back helping Josephine with what I'm guessing are vital documents. We lock eyes, and she pats her chest. I understand her meaning. She still has my letter folded within her robes. What does it matter if I died at the Breach, or at Haven? My feelings and wishes are still the same. Josephine looks up from her work and opens her mouth, as if she is about to ask what am I doing stood by the door, when we should be evacuating. Leliana cuts her off with a look and a shake of her head. She looks back to me and I see her grey eyes widen as she comprehends my intentions._

_I smile slightly and bow. She wants complimentary tales to tell of the Inquisition? Well the Herald verses the dragon is going to be one hell of a tale, if somewhat brief._

"_Go Cullen, get them out."_

* * *

He's losing track of time. It could be three hours later, could be ten minutes.

The barren path, turns out to be not so barren. There is a small copse of trees and he is currently sheltering behind one. The blizzard has picked up and if it doesn't die down in the next couple of minutes he is going to have to attempt moving on anyway.

There are more remains of a campfire here as well. He must be closer, surely, he can't go on for much longer. The metal of his chain mail is sticking to his skin where his undershirt doesn't quite cover it. He will be raw underneath no doubt and attempting to adjust it is nearly impossible his fingers are clumsy and he has no coordination.

He has waited long enough, the blizzard has not lessened. He must carry on.

* * *

_Despite my protests, I am accompanied by Blackwall, Varric and Dorian as we make our way to the remaining trebuchet._

"_As soon as it's turned, you go. Understand, no arguments! Blackwall, you're the only Warden for miles." I break off to slay a lingering archer, who has just stumbled round a corner. Spinning my blades into his side, he falls and I carry on. "You need to contact the others, warn them it's a blight."_

"_Right." He doesn't look like he relishes the task. _

_We get the trebuchet half way turned before we encounter the first bit of resistance. To call it a "bit" is an understatement. The red behemoth that approaches is twice the size of those that came before. It will take all four us to bring it down. Magic and arrows fly as Blackwall and I focus on its' legs to bring it to its knees. It's hard going, but it finally falls and I'm able to get the trebuchet turned fully towards the mountain, as the other's cover me._

_The dreaded wing beat sounds again and we rush away from the trebuchet, if it's going to fire, it can't hit that. It's our last hope._

_The shockwave of the blast blows us back, the force spinning me in mid-air and if that wasn't disorientating enough, I crack my head on the ground as I land. Blinking dots away from my vision. I realize I am alone. Cut off on both sides by walls of fire, and through the flame a figure appears. The one from the hill top. The tallest one. I get to my feet._

_Everything in my mind, body and soul screams in fear as this thing, this Elder One approaches. The dragon lands behind me and I spare it a glance but I can't take my mind off that mangled face. Every fibre of my being knows I am looking at something inherently wrong, evil._

_The dragon roars, but the Elder One raises his hands and silences it._

"_Enough!"_

"_Pretender." His mouth twists into a sneer, "You toy with forces beyond your ken no more."_

"_Whatever you are I'm not afraid of you!"_

_Who am I kidding, your voice along with your face will haunt me for the rest of my life. _

"_Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies." He dips his head, making sure he has eye contact with me. "Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus. You will kneel."_

"_You…" My voice breaks, I can't get the words out. "You'll get nothing from me."_

_That sneer again. "You will resist you will always resist, it matters not."_

_He raises his hand again and I realize he is holding something. Some sort of orb, strangely patterned. _

"_I am here for the anchor, the process of removing it begins now."_

_Anchor, what is he talking about? The orb in his hand glows with a demonic red light, and I know, somehow I know, it's the same magic that marks my hand. Is that what he means by the Anchor?_

"_It is your fault Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning"_

_What ritual? I have no memories. And there is some strange part of me that wants to explain that fact to this creature when clearly, he is not the listening type. _

"…_you stole its purpose. How you survived I know not, but what marks you as special, what you flail at rifts I crafted to assault the very heavens!"_

_The heavens? This is madness. _

"…_and you use it to undo my work. The gall!"_

_He steps towards me the orb glowing and pain explodes in my hand. Bringing me to my knees._

"_What is it for?!" if I am to die, I want to know why._

"_It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you the certainty that I would always come for It." He reaches down and wrenches me off the ground. My shoulder protests the treatment and I sway under his grip. He is strong, incredibly so. I feel childlike in comparison._

_He speaks as he raises the orb to me, manipulating the energy around it and the Mark._

"_I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods in person. I found only chaos and confusion. For a thousand years I was confused! No more. I return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed for I have seen this the throne of the gods and it was empty."_

_Maker! I know the stories, the chants. Seven Magisters went to the Golden City, and turned it black. They brought back the blight! Is he saying what I think he is? He was, is one of them! This is beyond me and I barely have time to digest these thoughts when he hurls me overhead and I hit the trebuchet. My back groans as I stand, there is a sword in front of me, I grab it and take up the stance taught to me by Cullen._

"_The Anchor is permanent you have spoilt it with your stumbling. So be it, I will begin again." for the first time anger slips into his tone. It's true. Whatever he has tried to do has failed. The pain is gone, the Mark is calmer than it ever was. It finally feels satiated He expected to be able to remove it from me. At least I have frustrated him. He said the ritual took years, the others will have time to prepare._

_In the distance I see a flare, they are safe! A smile slips out. _

"_I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You will die!"_

_I summon up my remaining courage, Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed!_

"_Your arrogance blinds you. We will never kneel and we will choose when to face you!"_

_I kick the mechanism and watch as the boulder arcs and crashes into the mountain top. The thunderous noise begins instantaneously. Here we go._

_He turns to look up and I make my escape. Follow me and die, or flee and live. Those are your choices Darkspawn._

_I sprint as fast I can, watching the dragon fly off with its' master. The avalanche is gaining. Why did I think I could outrun it?_

_Blown forward again, there is a hole, half covered in the ground, I am forced through it. I hit something wooden and it slows my fall but not by much._

* * *

Once again there is a fire pit, but this time, he thinks, hopes that he can feel the warmth of embers. He rounds the boulder it is next to, making his way through two giant edifices on either side.

Wait, there is light in the distance, there is a camp below him, so close. He staggers and nearly falls from the shock. The hours spent on this journey have taken their toll, he is rapidly reaching his limit. The snow is near impossible now. He can barely feel his legs.

_Maker please, a few more steps, just a few more._ But it is not to be, he stumbles once again and this time he does fall to his knees.

_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I tried, Maker forgive me, I really tried_.

"IT'S HIM!"

Hands pull him up from the cold ground, he cannot focus, and he is too tired. He thinks its Cullen and another soldier who are carrying him. He can hear Cassandra too.

"Herald? Herald? Trevelyan! Henry!"

"What happened?"

"Thank the Maker!"

The cacophony of noise that surrounds him grows once again, as more soldiers rush to aid him and the news is shouted down the mountain range.

"HE LIVES! THE HERALD LIVES!"

Be quiet, please be quiet. He needs to tell them what happened. He reaches up and grabs Cullen's collar, forcing the commander to look down at him, but he has a hard time getting his mouth to cooperate. Through chattering teeth and numb lips he manages to get out a few words.

"Dark…spawn. Magister… Cor… Cor… Corypheus."

He is done, he has nothing left to give and the darkness consumes him again.


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter was a nightmare! I'm sorry for the delay but I didn't want to rush it and publish incoherent rubbish. There is a lot of conjecture in this chapter. The cutscene that covers the journey to Skyhold is short. Honestly if I could add anything to the game, I'd stretch that bit out to show how our Heralds grew into our Inquisitors.**

**Hello to my new followers, thank you for adding BTA to your favorites and for your kind reviews.**

**Hope to have Chapter Nine published Sunday at the latest.**

**Cali.**

**Chapter Eight**

He kept his head down and his hood up as he wandered back into the camp. There was little activity, the sun had only just begun to crest over the mountains. He didn't want to speak to anyone just yet. Heated arguments may have been replaced by frustratingly polite discussions and debates but he would remain silent for now. At least until he got his own thoughts in order.

Four days they had been here, wherever here was. Somewhere in the Frostbacks, was all he knew for sure. Four days licking their wounds and he'd only really been conscious for the last two. His mind and body were still recovering from his narrow escape.

* * *

_Through the haze of confusion and weariness I can make out some of the conversation around me, even if I can't contribute yet. This seems to be the main tent they've half carried, half dragged me into because the voices are familiar._

"_Maker it's true! He lives, how?" Leliana._

"_He followed through the blizzard, alone?" and Josephine._

"_Not now. Get whatever healers we have, and find Solas, for his mark!" Cullen's bark, followed by more footsteps, the rustle of the canopy as someone rushes out. Moments later the noise is repeated and Solas joins the fray._

"_Have we any blankets that can be spared? Leave the fire to me. Commander we need to get him out of his armour…"_

_Tossed and turned, they manipulate me until they can undo all the clasps and buckles to my clothing and mail. I have no energy to feel embarrassed at my state of undress. I drift out again._

_Only to be awoken by Solas stern commands. "No! Not his legs. Start with his chest and work outwards." It takes a while, but eventually, I can feel the rough texture of the blanket as it's rubbed along my torso. A few minutes more and the pain from my ribs' rears its ugly head. Everywhere they touch, causes a grunt or groan to slip from through. _

"_He is in pain!" The motion stops. I open my eyes everything's blurry but I recognize that Antivan lilt._

"_It's his ribs and we cannot mend them until he is warmed. The heat from our magic is too much, we could send him into shock."_

_Josephine hesitates, before carrying on. The warmer I get, the more pain I feel and I grit my teeth to stop any more noise. I don't want to worry her, but she notices anyway._

"_I am so sorry, My Lord."_

* * *

"_My Lord? Are you awake?"_

_Blinking, I look up into Josephine's concerned gaze. "I am now."_

"_I am sorry my Lord, I wanted to let you rest longer, but Solas insisted you must eat, to restore your strength."_

_I'd prefer to go back to sleep, but Solas is usually right about most things, and I don't want to offend the lady. She assists me in sitting up before passing me a bowl. I take small sips of whatever it is and manage half the bowl before my stomach begins to ache. _

"_Where are the others?"_

"_Cassandra and Cullen are checking over the survivors and our supplies. Leliana is dispatching her scouts to make sure you weren't followed."_

"_I don't think I was but I can't say for sure. I wasn't concentrating on much, excepting catching up."_

"_That you did. Oh! Leliana had a message for you. She says, not to worry, there was no time to send your letter anyway." I hear the question in her voice._

"_Ah, a message to my family, in case I didn't make it back."_

_She looks at me incredulously, "Where did you find time in all the chaos?"_

"_I wrote it before the Breach."_

"_You still went? Weren't you afraid?"_

"_Of course I was scared. I was terrified of the Breach, I was terrified of the dragon but I was the only one who could my Lady. I couldn't just let you all die."_

_She takes the bowl back before rising, gently squeezing my arm as she does so._

"_Then let me be the first to thank you My Lord. For everything, not just Haven. I will return with the others, we need to know what happened."_

_She must have only been gone a few moments but I can't help falling back asleep. Only for Cassandra, Cullen and Leliana to demand my return to awareness. I notice a few others slip into the tent as well, chief amongst them: Solas._

"_So darkspawn? Are you sure?"_

"_Not just any darkspawn, Cassandra. The Darkspawn. He claims…he claims he was one of originals. One of the magisters who tried for the Golden City and turned it black."_

_A collective gasp goes through the tent. Followed by a short period of silence. Then the questions burst forth. So many, questions._

* * *

Entering his tent, he sat down heavily on his cot, rubbing over the back of his head. There was still a slight pang in his ribs, but nothing noteworthy. Nothing he would bother the healers for, not when there were others whose situations were far direr.

Where to begin with it all? The logical staring point he supposed was with the question that has never been answered since this madcap tale began. Was he saved by divine providence? The closest he had to come to believing the stories about himself was when Roderick, Chancellor bloody Roderick of all people, had proved to be the only one left who could provide the means to their survival. For a moment, one single moment, He had believed that it was all true. The stars had aligned for him. He was the Maker's chosen, Andraste's Herald. Yet despite the belief, he took no comfort in it. Haven's combined expectations and hope had weighed him down at every step as he made his way to their only remaining trebuchet.

It lasted until the living embodiment of humanity's darkest sin had tossed him around Haven's front yard like a child's plaything. Then He was rapidly reduced back to the stumbling fool he had felt like in the early days of the Inquisition. Quaking, trembling, forcing himself not to stutter before the creature as it spoke its' truth. Corypheus had called him a mistake. No doubt in an attempt to break him, to scare him witless. At the time it had, if he was no Herald, the Heaven's had no reason to offer him protection. Now, however, he couldn't be more relived. Yet guilty for feeling so.

An accident of fate? He could cope with that. Divinity now that's a burden. When he looked at the mark now, he could almost see past it, see himself again. Amidst the arguing and the singing, He had told Mother Giselle he hadn't come back from the dead, but he was wrong. The illusion of the Herald had perished in the flames and now from the ashes there was a chance for Henry Trevelyan to be reborn and he had to grasp it or lose himself forever. It's the only decision he manages to come to about himself before he's interrupted. Someone is calling for him.

He makes for the exit to find the source, only to have to step back as Cullen's head appears.

"Trevelyan!" Cullen looks him up and down, before stepping inside fully. "Where were you?"

"I stepped out for a while, just needed some air."

"Appreciated but can you not wander off? Cassandra nearly had my head when I said I didn't know where you were!"

He can imagine so and grins as he replies, "Say no more, Cullen. Now you know how I felt in the beginning. Did she draw her sword on you?"

"She was close to it. Look we need a deciding vote. Val Royeaux or Denerim?"

"Neither."

"That's not an acceptable answer. A decision must be made and made now. We cannot linger here!"

No they can't, but there's another option. One he's also been considering since yesterday and has come to more satisfactory conclusion.

* * *

_The seriously wounded begin to fade, despite our best efforts. Our healers are exhausted and medical supplies are stretched thin. It's usual to wake in the morning and hear prayers for the departed and smell the smoke of funeral pyres. Roderick is among the first to succumb to his wounds. I am amazed that the old man lasted so long and I mourn him more than I ever expected I would. Despite the disagreements over the Chantry bureaucracy, in the end he had shown himself to be a true member of Andraste's church: standing tall in face of the Templar threat. Unarmed, urging others to shelter. People first, politics second._

_The latest is a young elf girl. The same one who woke me all those months ago in that tiny cottage in Haven. Who had stuttered and bowed and thanked me like I was some sort of hero. Her wounds must have festered and infection set in. _

_I didn't know until I come across Solas, shovel in hand. "We bury our dead." I recognise her face and leave, to get my own shovel. Silently, I help Solas both with the digging and lowering her body into the grave, cursing my own insensitivity. There were few elves with us, but I know more than one has died here. Solas has probably buried them all, by himself. When we finish he recites something in Elvish. _

"_I didn't even know her name."_

"_It is understandable. There was so much happening in those early days."_

_Despite Solas' attempts to appease me, my frustration at the current situation still boils over. "Dammit! We can't carry on like this. Out here, exposed, we are easy pickings for the wildlife, never mind Corypheus."_

"_Allow me to offer an alternative."_

_I can't help the grimace that crosses my face at the thought of another debate._

_Solas must've seen the unconvinced look and turns to stare into to the distance, which usually means he's weighing his words carefully. The Elf remains quiet for so long, I think I've offended him._

"_Solas, forgive me. I didn't mean to suggest I would dismiss your idea out of hand. It's just frustrating, we go over the same ideas again and again, getting nowhere. Do we head west to Val Royeaux or east to Denerim? And what welcome could we expect. I think I would prefer a return to the arguments! The politeness that Mother Giselle has somehow managed to enforce is beginning to grate!" I laugh mirthlessly. "I'm sure you'd say that's a typical human trait."_

_A morose chuckle escapes the normally solemn Elf, "No my journeys through this world and the fade have shown me that longing for conflict is not unique to one species."_

"_Your idea Solas? Will you share it?"_

"_Yes." He draws a breath before continuing," by attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you. Scout to the north, be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build, can grow."_

"_Must you be so damn cryptic all the time? That's seriously all you're going to tell me? Is it big enough to hold us all? And it's empty? Did you see this in the Fade?"_

"_So many questions Trevelyan and the answer is yes to them all."_

"_So, north?"_

"_North."_

_But how to convince the others?_

* * *

"I have no intention of staying in the arse end of nowhere a day longer." He tries to keep his voice steady. "But as soon as we move back into civilization we'll become a target and we're not ready to defend ourselves. And if the Inquisition can't defend itself, we damn well can't defend the people around us."

The rustle of the canopy distracts him momentarily. He looks over Cullen's shoulder to see Cassandra, Josephine and Leliana enter. Cullen's right, the Seeker clearly isn't pleased.

"There you are! You of all people can't just wander off when you feel like it Herald!"

"Henry."

"I…what?"

"I told you. I am not a Herald. My name is Henry. Or Trevelyan. Hell, I'll settle for 'My Lord' if you're so inclined. But the Herald stuff stops now."

If he looked in a mirror right now he'd see a steely glint in his eye, his mouth set in a firm line. He does not mean to be harsh with them, he values these people as much as any of friends back home, but on this matter he will brook no opposition. This was the reason for his walk this morning. To settle his thoughts and the conclusion he had come to was startlingly simple: He could not be Henry and the Herald at the same time. The Herald's assets were a demonic hand and an ability to divide the believers of Thedas' oldest sect even further than they already had themselves. Henry Trevelyan was a semi trained Templar, who could lead men, if not yet an army. Already a fair soldier more than capable of looking after himself before all this began and he'd only improved since then. There can no longer be a dichotomy in his mind, one of them has to go.

He meets Cassandra's eyes for a long time, before she nods her head. He sees understanding in her eyes. She is after all, a person who rejoices more in the titles she had earned, not those she had been gifted. A mindset he would try to emulate. "Fine. Has Cullen told you we are at a stalemate? What are your thoughts?"

"He said as much yes."

Leliana leans against the main post. "Then you are aware the Commander and Cassandra see the merits of Denerim. Josephine and I would prefer Val Royeaux."

"I do not think either of the capitals is a viable solution."

He moves over to the table, where the map is spread out, motioning for them to follow. He begins pointing out each option and ruling it out, toppling their markers as he does so.

"Val Royeaux? Orlais is torn apart with this damn war, what resources can they spare us? Even if it wasn't, do we want to march into the heart of the Chantry, they have no love for us. Not to mention the White Spire! We have no idea how far the corruption has spread up the Templar Ranks. I am not marching to their headquarters to find out, not just yet. Denerim isn't the fortress we need and it's already full enough, we can't bring Corypheus down on it. It also means walking straight past Therinfal. Another major Templar stronghold. If we could head south, where could we go? Corypheus' army is probably still raking over the bones of Haven. Into the Hinterlands? It can't handle any more refugees and make no mistake, that's what we are for the moment. Redcliffe? We've just gave it back to its' Arl. I doubt he'll be eager to let it go again so soon."

A hand on his arm stops him gesticulating. He looks down at it, then up into Josephine's face. "You've made your point my Lord, but where are you suggesting the Free Marches?"

"As my Father is fond of saying, 'Unless there's a blight, the Marches won't unite'." He takes a moment to calm himself, realizing how loud his voice had risen. "There is another, well I wouldn't call it a choice, more of a chance. Solas has seen something, in the fade north of here. I believe we should scout it out first. Regardless of where we eventually choose, we will have to head in that direction and we will have lost nothing in looking."

It seems an age before they speak. It is a tempting offer, the chance to start again, beholden to no one for but themselves.

Cassandra makes the first move, inhaling sharply, "He is right, we will lose nothing in looking."

"Our supplies could last us two months, maybe more if we enforce stricter rations." Josephine adds.

Leliana nods in agreement, "There is sufficient wildlife to hunt as well. Not many herbs for healing. We'd be reliant on our mages for that. If Solas is correct, we'd more than likely hit upon this destination before we reach the Imperial Highway anyway."

Turning to Cullen, he silently implores him.

"North? That's all he said? Just head north?"

He can't suppress a tired smile. He's sure Cullen's face is identical to his own earlier.

"Yes."

"You're asking a lot of them Trevelyan."

"I know. And this is only the beginning of what we'll ask. You know that."

A swift nod from the Commander and he lets out the breath He didn't realize he had been holding. He straightens up. He has a consensus, now the real work begins.

"Leliana, can you gather your scouts so we can give instructions?"

A quirked eyebrow, a slight smirk, "As you wish my Lord."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Bracing himself he grips the top of the ridge readying to pull himself up. Pushing his foot against the surface, he wiggles it again, checking that the ground beneath him is not going come loose. Once he's confident he pushes off. Scrambling over, he rights himself before checking about. Nothing but silence. He turns to offer a hand to his companion waiting below.

"I do so despise mountains."

"I'd say this is more of a hill. The one we passed over last week? Now that was a mountain."

He is ignored. "Especially frozen behemoths such as this. I mean really, is such cold necessary?"

"You didn't have to come. Not that I'm ungrateful that you volunteered for this."

"Of course I had too. I didn't want to grow rusty seeing as you've banned magic."

"Dorian we've been over this. No one has banned magic, we have to ration all our supplies, including lyrium. Once this snow thaws fully we'll be able to find herbs again. For now, though, we can't waste it on all but the most essential magic. Healing is the priority."

"You're annoying when you are being reasonable, you know that?"

"I've been called annoying for a number of reasons, that's never been one of them."

"Ha I can imagine so." Dorian looks around, "Well I don't want you to get the impression I'm only saying this because I'm fed up of the scenery, but here seems as good a place as any?"

He takes a look around again and knows Dorian is right. Of all the paths they have tried to find around this range of hills (almost a mountain!) this had been the easiest one they had taken. Although, thinking about it, the carts would still struggle with the last section, it's too sheer.

He turns to the mage, quirking his head as he does so, "The last few yards, could do with being less of an incline."

"Is my dear Herald giving me permission?"

"When was the last time you waited for anyone's permission?"

Dorian's rich laughter rings out as he twirls his staff in his hand.

"A long time ago my friend, a very long time ago. Consider yourself lucky."

* * *

Dorian "I'm telling you this is a mountain" Pavus' spends the rest of the afternoon blasting the ground and levitating rocks and boulders out of the way, eventually there is a clear path wide enough for them to drag the carts through. When they (Dorian) finishes they send up a signal and the remainder of the Inquisition manage to make their way up by nightfall. They will camp here tonight.

They have been marching, by his reckoning, for just over his a month. The winter is fading, giving way to spring. As the snow melts, their carts and animals are able to gain better traction on the ground. As a result they are moving faster than in those early days.

After seeing an exhausted Dorian to his tent ("You owe me the finest of wines for this, the very finest, none of your Free Marcher shit." "I'll try not to take offence at that."). He makes his way around the camp perimeter making sure those on watch are aware of their duties. This final check is a responsibility he has taken to sharing with Cullen,

"You'll be relived in four hours and you can use veilfire tonight." Camped up here, with scarce tree cover regular torches would more visible to enemies.

"As you wish Herald."

His orders are met without hesitation and he forces a smile on his face as accepts their salutations.

He has become accustomed to biting back retorts. He is called Herald as often as not by the troops. What others believe can no longer be a concern to him. The Inquisition is a diverse force, he is interested only in what they can do and have done. Besides, he had tried to rebuke them, but so far, barring the Leadership, it's to no avail. So he ignores it as best he can. He knows that as long as he sticks to his own he can get through this. He is done with abstract concepts of faith. As he had told Mother Giselle that first night in the Frostbacks, _"All this started because of fanatics and arguments about the next world. It's time we started believing in this one."_

He will stand by that maxim and will put his trust in what he sees before him. In their soldiers and their unfailing courage in the face of all that they've asked of them. In their workers, who took so much pride in everything built for them, only to see it torn down and here they stand willing to start over. In Cullen's strength, Leliana's cunning. In Josephine's diplomacy and Cassandra's drive. And the common thread that binds them all: a fervent desire to put this world to rights. Everything and nothing has changed, He's no Herald, but still Henry Trevelyan, proud member of the Inquisition.

The pride leads to a newfound confidence in himself. He goes about his duties with relish and feels more comfortable suggesting ideas. Like the one about the lyrium. While Cullen had observed the problem first, He had suggested a solution and argued passionately that the Mages consent must be secured first. To cut off their supply and tell them why later would only lead to dissent and once it had been agreed, He had been the one to gather the Mages up and explain it all. There were grumbles, there was bound to be. He understood it would be hard for them. The equivalent of asking the soldiers to hand over their swords and bows. Finally they had agreed with him that there current supply would not last if everyone was using it. Amongst themselves they had put forward the best healers and warriors who could benefit the Inquisition most. It is a victory, not a military one, but a victory none the less.

And it is not long before this confidence had an unintended consequence of its own. One he fails to recognise by himself. It falls to the Iron Bull to confront him with it a short time later.

* * *

_It's early not yet dawn as I pull my on coat and step outside to get some water, the one supply we will never lack for in our current location. I woke because Cullen was starting to have a nightmare and if it's anything like the ones I've seen him have this week I don't want to embarrass him by being there when he wakes up like I did a few days ago. No I'll come back in time to hand him some water and not mention anything about it. Works for him, works for me. Richard never wanted to talk about his nightmares either._

_Suddenly, there is a noise close to me and my hand flies up to grip one of my blades. I look around in time to see three men hobble back to camp. Two supporting one in the middle. Shit, have we been discovered? Attacked? I rush over to see if I can help._

"_What happened here?"_

"_We were tracking deer Ser. Tripped over a tree root, sprained my ankle I think."_

_That's a relief, not for him obviously but in general. "Nasty. Where are the others?" _

"_Not far from here, less than half a mile, straight north. We brought back Harlan here, and we'll catch them up."_

"_Will you lend me your bow then Harlan? Shouldn't let the chance to boost our supplies pass us by." _

"_Of course Ser, would be my honour."_

_The Iron Bull, spots me as I'm about to leave and insists on coming with us. Well he'd offered to be a bodyguard so I shouldn't be surprised. I've never know the Bull to shirk his duty or break his word._

_We catch up to the other scouts and in the clearing below us there are two deer, stragglers. Stupid beasts, they shouldn't have left the protection of the herd. I still my breathing to the bare minimum as I nock an arrow. Slowly, ever so slowly, one of the deer lowers its' head, attempting to graze. Drawing the string taught, I let the arrow fly, watching as it strikes the creature in the neck. It falls, startling the other deer. But I'm not alone. One of Leliana's agents is next to me, half hidden by a tree, he loosens his own arrow and the fleeing deer falls not ten yards from its companion._

_Slowly, we edge out from our tree cover. Wary of any competitors for the prize._

"_Good shot my Lord Herald."_

_I try not to flinch at the title as I nod my appreciation of the compliment. "Trevelyan will do. Yours was better but thank you. Take them back to the camp, it should boost our rations. Inform Sister Leliana that this area is clear we can continue in this direction today." _

_With a bow, the scout and his comrades and set about trussing up the deer before hauling it back towards the main camp. They seem in good cheer, as if this a simple hunting trip and I watch them go with a confused heart._

_A giant hand claps me on the shoulder, I nearly buckle under the force._

"_So Boss, you ever play Wicked Grace?"_

_What has that to do with anything? "No Bull, not really my forte."_

"_I figured as much. That face of yours doesn't hide much. You should work on that." _

"_What are you talking about?"_

"_Tensing your shoulder, the eyebrow twitch. The way you rub the back of your head. Everything screams that you're uncomfortable. What is it that bothers you, the title?"_

"_You must've heard by now, being Ben Hasrath and all, I'm no one's Herald. I'm don't want them wasting their time believing something that's never was true or going to come true."_

"_Yeah I heard something like that. But look Boss, whatever happened, whatever's true, to these guys, you're the boss. So you need to start acting like it, you understand?"_

"_I'm not in charge here Bull you know that."_

"_And yet, more often than not, they look to you."_

"_Bull…"_

"_You can't stop it, as much as you want to. They've already chosen and they're the only ones who can chose. Your guys here they're different from most. Some march for coin, some for glory but most dangerous of all are those that march for a cause. This Vint Bastard has that sort of army, and only the same can match it. You've got the beginnings of one here but they need a focus point, a leader not a council. This is gonna be a long ass haul, and it might change when we get to wherever we're going, but while we're here, it's you that's got to play that part." _

_I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off._

"_An' being Ben Hasrath an' all? I know whose plan we're following here. The Elf is smart, I'll give him that, decent too. Hides his distaste for those he doesn't agree with well enough and his Fade bullshit may pay off here. It usually does. No one would've followed him alone, though. So yeah it wasn't your idea, but your decision. So don't tell me you can't lead when you've already started, 'Kay Boss?"_

* * *

In the aftermath of that discussion he considers what Bull had said carefully. It takes a few days of introspection for him to realise that it just an extension of a role he's already playing. However what he's doing now isn't enough. Scouting, hunting these are all well and good but He has to improve in every area.

So when the night comes, and they settle down to set up camp, he pushes himself to learn. Determined to be the best he can be. He had been the bane of his tutors' lives in his younger years, not because he lacked intelligence, just patience. Now he throws himself back into it with renewed vigour, the others are just as eager to teach him, it serves as a welcome distraction during the tougher times.

Josephine's lectures are frustrating. He doesn't enjoy them, more like he endures them. The only compensation being the pleasure of her company, her positivity is infectious.

"_Concentrate My Lord, try again."_

_Scratching the back of his head, he screws up his eyes in an effort to focus better, to see in his mind's eye the old charts he had been shown as a youngster. "Right. Judicael II was succeeded by his brother Florian?" She nods and gives him a quick bright smile, so he continues. "Florian had no issue and was followed by his niece Celene. Who's now at war with Florian's nephew and her cousin, Gaspard."_

"_Excellent! Now the Lady Mantillon was?"_

"_Florian's mistress."_

"_And rumoured assassin."_

"_Wait, what? She was his lover and she killed him? That's…harsh"_

"_That is the Game."_

"_So glad I'm not Orlesian." He mutters under his breath._

"_Did you say something?"_

"_Nothing My Lady."_

* * *

Leliana's teachings consist of him trying to spot which of her agents are trying to kill him. Over dinner, or out hunting he would have to pick out from a group the one it wouldbe, then discuss his observations with her.

"_There was a blade up his sleeve and the potions he carries? One was a few shades darker than what a normal elfroot concoction would be. Poison?"_

"_Good. His inside legs?"_

"_There was a blade there too?"_

"_No. But did you think to check?"_

"_Shit. I didn't." _

"_Your opponents won't be as forgiving as me."_

_As the weeks go on He gets better at it until one day as he goes to relieve himself behind some trees. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He spins and faces his would be assailant._

"_Dead My Lord."_

"_I think not." He pushes into the blade of his would be assassin so she can feel the resistance of his armour at the same time He applies pressure to his own blade so she can feel it on her over her clothing but still between her ribs._

"_You on the other hand…"_

* * *

His favourite lessons are with Cullen. Drawing diagrams with sticks in the snow mapping out imaginary wars. It reminds him of his childhood with his brothers.

"_Now the enemy approaches from this direction, how do you begin?" _

"_With the vanguard here, a unit of archers here, maybe another here? Cavalry definitely here as well." _

"_Excellent! We will make a commander of you yet. Now what do you know about fort construction?"_

"_And more trebuchets here just in case!"_

"_Can never have too many in my opinion!"_

* * *

"_Trevelyan? We've had word back from of our camps in the Hinterl… What on earth are you doing?"_

"_Leliana!"_

"_It's not what it looks like." _

"_Really Cullen? Because it looks like you're building snow castles. While we're stuck, how did you put it my Lord? In the 'arse end of nowhere'." _

_Frightened glances are exchanged between two grown men on their knees in the snow._

"_Please don't tell Cassandra."_

* * *

Somewhere along the way he forgets what Bull said, forgets it's a role he cast himself in. Every thank you he receives, every grateful smile, every compliment manages to simultaneously break through the barriers he had built and patch him back together. Somewhere along the way the guilt that has been holding him back all this time fades, not completely, but far enough into the back of his mind that he can lock it away. Somewhere along the way he forgives himself for not being their Herald.

His reward for all his efforts is a place he only could never have imagined even if he tried and when he finally sees it, it takes his breath away.

He's not sure how something can look legendary, when you've never even heard of the legends, but it manages it. Magnificent, also springs to mind and glorious too. The size of it, the imposing towers striking out at the endless sky. Built on a lonely mountain top, there is only one way for a ground force to attack it. The frozen waters make it impassable for a naval one. The dragon will not take them by surprise again. Safe. Secure. Oh there are some repairs needed, he can see that as he gets closer. One of the towers is crumbling, the roof of the main hall will need mending too. Even so, it is more than he had ever dared dream of on their journey. Bruised but not broken. Damaged but not destroyed. Still here, still fighting. Just like him. Can a building be a kindred spirit? Something about it resonates within him.

The jolt of excitement and relief that rolls through him makes his hair stand on end. He recalls Solas' words from weeks ago. They will rebuild here. They will grow. They will become a beacon for all who would take a stand against this mad Magister and his cursed army.

He hears Solas behind him, a certain smugness in his voice. He'll let him have it though, Maker knows he's earned the right.

"Skyhold."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

"**Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them" – William Shakespeare**

An old mercenary coat, a bit of dirt slapped around his face and forgoing to get his haircut for another day is all it takes to grant him a few hours anonymity. After milling around the courtyard with Bull for a bit, talking to their soldiers (His soldiers? Is that how it worked now?) He and Varric decide to make the most of it and head to the Herald's Rest. Bull declines their request to join them in favour of catching up with the Chargers. He also suspects Bull's doing this as a kindness to him; The Chargers are leading their fellow patrons in rowdy drinking songs and telling tales of their favourite jobs, so all the attention is focused down below.

Still he takes no chances. Hunched over in the dimmest corner of the second floor as he drinks, this is his third by his count, possibly fourth, (in addition to the drink he is also giddy on the thrill of not being recognized). There is a crooked grin on his face; he is beginning to feel the affect of the ale. He is also amused by the thought that it is a testament to something or over that within their first month here they have managed to get a decent, well fairly decent, supply of drink going. He takes a drink, feeling the burn as it goes down causing him to grimace slightly. He takes back the word decent. Oh well beggars can't be choosers.

"You know I'm beginning to think they named this age wrong." Varric is more verbose than usual when drunk which is saying something.

"Really?" He takes another drink from his tankard before setting it back down on the table. "So what would the esteemed author Varric Tethras have called it?"

"Hmm. Well with the benefit of hindsight, I'm thinking the Hero Age? I mean between Hero of Ferelden, the Champion, you and Cassandra's not the Hero of Orlais for nothing."

"I get your point, but we haven't saved anyone yet."

Varric lets out a snort, "No you're right, just the countless people living near the rifts, stamping out the war in the Hinterlands, protecting the refugees, stopping the Mages' from destroying themselves, oh and evacuating most of our people from Haven. Oh then the part where you led them through the mountains! But apart from them, no one."

"Well at least someone's taking notes." A thought strikes him, "Wait. Are you taking notes? You're not thinking of..."

"Give me some credit Inquisitor! I'm an author. I'm always thinking of my next book, even if I never actually write them in the end." Varric takes another sip of his own brew as he leans back. "_The Tale of the Champion. The Tale of the Inquisitor._ I could make it a trilogy and include _The Tale of the Hero_. Though the thought of trying to pry information out of Leliana." Varric shudders, "Not a trilogy. So a different title for your story then." He pauses in thought, more drink passes his lips, "I got it! _This Shit Is Weird: The Inquisitor Trevelyan Story_. Now that's a title that would catch your eye!"

He spits his drink out. Spluttering out a laugh and snort of his own, but his mood turns serious as it often does, "You know what I mean. Until we stop Corypheus we've achieved nothing."

"Corypheus?"

He shrugs his shoulder unconcerned by Varric's question. He thought everyone knew the name by now, "Well that's what the Elder One called himself."

Varric stands abruptly, knocking the table and nearly sending his drink flying everywhere. Luckily he's not fully drunk so he's able to reach his hand out in time to steady it, before looking up at his companion who is he more worried about now, "Varric? What's the matter?"

"I have a letter to write."

He watches confused, as the dwarf scurries off. "Hey! You haven't finished your drink!" Varric ignores him.

Well that was... weird. He downs the rest of his own ale.

The Inquisitor Trevelyan Story. A tale in four chapters: His childhood; his templar days; the quiet years after leaving the Order and the Inquisition days. Who'd want to read that?

But these are thoughts for another day. Right now, he needs to figure out how to get into his quarters without being caught. He looks like he's been dragged through a hedge backwards.

* * *

In the dead of night when all is quiet he decides pacing his room is no longer an option and maybe a stroll around the battlements will be enough to calm his mind and tire his body. It's what he used to do in the mountains; a walk around the perimeter of the camp. Making sure everything was safe, secure. Perhaps he has grown too accustomed to doing that that he can't sleep without it. Either way he can't stay confined here any longer. Tonight has been one of the many nights where his dreams of Haven are so vivid that he woke clasping the back of his neck swearing he could still feel the dragon's breath. There's no denying the nightmares have been getting steadily worse since they have settled into Skyhold. It makes a strange sort of sense, he supposes, he finally has time to be afraid.

Padding gently down the stairs he makes it through the wooden door with minimal creaks. Out of the corner of his eye a strange pattern of light catches his eye on the floor. It's the moonlight bouncing off the blades on that bloody chair. It was placed here a few days ago and he has been avoiding it ever since. Deliberately averting his eyes as he walks past it. Stupid really. There is nothing avoidable on his current adventure. Sooner or later he has to face it.

Stepping closer to it he notes a slight difference. Its' material was plain when it was brought in; someone has taken the time to embroider the Inquisition's heraldry into it, in gold of course. Looking over his shoulder to make sure the hall is empty he sits down in it for the first time. He's not entirely sure what it's for. Will he sit here when they hold feasts? Above and removed from everyone else? He drops his head into his hands, massaging his temples. This is so far beyond what he thought his life would be. One day his world will stop spinning. One day he will be able to get his feet back on solid ground.

"Impressive, is it not?"

Her soft voice calls to him from the doorway to her office. He jumps up not wanting her to think he's some sort of megalomaniac, who's come to sit on a throne to get a thrill. He steps down to join her but both of them are still looking at it.

"I'd say intimidating. But I suppose that's the point. What is it for?"

"It is where the Inquisition will sit in judgement. Where you will sit in judgement."

Judge people? Then what? Execute them. He doesn't think he has the stomach for that. Killing in the heat of battle is one thing, when your blood is rushing and the only goal is survival. But in cold blood, against an opponent unarmed and bound before him. No he doesn't like the idea of that.

"Do I really need to see even more death? I'm nearly at capacity," his voice is harsh, his posture rigid. Arms crossed n front of his chest defensively.

She gently tugs on his arm guiding him away from the hall into her office, "I share your distaste or more bloodshed but it needn't come to that." Leading him to the chairs placed in front of the fire before gesturing for him to sit, "The Inquisition's sovereignty is derived from those who validate it. You are both empowered and bound. Justice has many tools. If the application is clever, execution may even seem merciful by comparison."

So the Inquisition remains strong as long as it can keep its allies. The problem with your allies is that they're not always allied to your other allies. He can see it now: he'll execute one prisoner, one side will celebrate and the other will revolt. Leaning back in the chair he closes his eyes, kneading the bridge of his nose. Great. Now in addition to being exhausted he also has a headache.

"Perhaps some tea would help you sleep?"

He half smiles, eyes still closed, "That obvious?"

"It is well past midnight. A bit late to be exploring Inquisitor."

Opening his eyes he points to her desk, the top of which is barely visible for paperwork, "Also a bit late to be working Ambassador."

"Oh these are supply lists to our most trusted allies. Now we have finally finished the inspections we are better placed to know what to ask them for." She hands him a cup which he takes with thanks. "There also letters officially announcing your new position. The sooner they are sent the sooner we can get more done."

She passes him one, a section of which he reads aloud, "_We make it known that Henry Maxwell Trevelyan of House Trevelyan of Ostwick, sometimes known as the Herald of Andraste, has been elevated to the office of Inquisitor. He will hereafter be known as His Worship, Inquisitor Trevelyan."_ His Worship? That was the form of address for an Inquisitor? "Quite the speech. Did you have to use my full name? Anytime I hear it I think my mother's going to spring from somewhere to drag me back to my tutors."

"His Worship was not the most diligent student?"

"There is no need to be so formal Josephine."

"Our allies and guests should see you treated with every courtesy. Especially considering the newness of your office. Fortunately after your courage at Haven, it's no difficult task to do so."

He can feel his ears burning as he clears his throat, "And which high and mighty prince of Thedas are we expecting to drop in past midnight?"

She smiles, and he sees she is willing to humour him for now, "Little Lord Trevelyan was a handful?"

"Never out of a tree or out of questions is how my Father would put it. I must've worn my tutors out. Though in my defence I think I was just the last straw after they had dealt with my siblings."

"I understand there were six of you."

"Seven. I had another brother. Samuel. He died young, before I was born." Now just four. And Evelyn. Still no word of Evie. He shakes his head to clear it, no more dark thoughts tonight, there are enough when he sleeps, "You said you had siblings yourself. Four? And you are the oldest?"

"I am and yes, one sister and two brothers."

"And did you keep your siblings in line or lead them in into trouble."

"A little of both," She smiles again behind her cup. A glimmer of mischief in her eye.

It sets the tone for the rest of their time together. They trade stories of their homeland and playful tales of their childhoods. Of Antiva's beaches and Ostwick's meadows. How she wept to on leaving her mother for Val Royeaux's University. How he begged his Father for the opportunity to prove himself at the Order. Before long he feels his eyelids grow heavy. He can't help it. Something about her presence is so soothing, peaceful.

There is a gentle push on his shoulder, then a firmer one, "Go to bed, My Lord."

He follows her suggestion, bidding her good night while admonishing her to follow her own advice.

The nightmares continue but they are interwoven with memories of happier times. Occasionally there are flashes of gold that run through them.

It's probably one of the better night's sleep he's had in a while.

* * *

He is used to being involved in every aspect of the Inquisition. Even before he was made Inquisitor, his opinion was sought, listened to even. On the contacts they should seek, what their army need, where their spies should investigate. He has excellent advisors who lay all the facts bare for him to digest. Making decisions is becoming somewhat easier.

But this is pushing it. Business is one thing. Personal lives are another.

"This isn't a something I can decide for you! Besides you've already made your choice and if you think I would be anything less than supportive then..."

"Because of your brother?"

"Yes," comes the simple answer.

Cullen's lyrium kit lies on his desk before them.

"I do not mean to pry but can I ask how long he was with the Order?"

He does the math in his head, "Nearly seventeen years. Four years of training before taking his vows. He's thirty-one now. He was discharged shortly before I turned nineteen. Some seven years ago."

"Seven years and he still suffers?" Cullen looks disheartened and he hastens to paint a better image without overtly lying about it.

"He is nowhere near as bad as he was. He has his episodes every now and again but in the early years he was bedridden a lot of the time. I don't think it's just the lyrium, I think it depends on the man too. Richard was always a sickly child. My parents worried for him constantly. He caught every cold, every fever going as a boy. Honestly I was surprised when he asked to join the Order. I thought he would be for the Chantry for sure."

"Do you regret not taking your vows?"

"I did at first." This much is true. He enjoyed training. It was the first time he realised what he was capable of. He wasn't William Trevelyan's little brother or Bann Trevelyan's youngest boy. He wasn't in anyone's shadow. He was good at it too. Then the Knight-Captain summoned him to the senior barracks one morning. "_Your brother was injured in battle. He will be honourably discharged."_ Maker when he first saw him it was awful. He barely recognized him. Pale, sweaty. Shaking uncontrollably. He was so thin. But no obvious wound. Why are they lying? He had questions of course, but Ser Cedric silenced him with a firm grip on his shoulder as he repeated himself, "_Your brother was injured in battle. He will be honourably discharged."_ Then looking more haggard that he' has ever seen this shining example of a Templar, he tells him the lyrium. But not a word to the other recruits. _"Let your brother gather as much strength as possible. Then take him home." _So he does.

"_We need to stop," comes the familiar, if barely audible call, from Richard. I look to my left. He has grown paler again. I nod, leaping from my own horse to assist him in getting down. As soon as his feet touch the ground he stumbles away from me to vomit._

_Maybe just stopping the lyrium altogether wasn't the answer. As he continues hurling his insides up inside a little copse of trees, I look through one of the saddle bags on my horse, pulling out the carved wooden box. Ser Cedric insisted I take it with me. Did he know it would be like this? I approach Richard quietly, the box clasped in my right hand as try to pull him up a bit with my left._

"_Rich? Perhaps if you just took one dose of it? So we can get you home quicker._

"_No! No more of it."_

"_Rich we to get you to a proper healer as fast..."_

"_You don't know how painful it is! You don't see the things I see! And I still want it! Despite knowing what it will do to me!" He breaks out in sobs and I am struck by the thought that this is the first time I have ever seen a grown man cry. Not just any man either, my big brother. His head is buried on my shoulder as I hold him up and once again I can feel how thin he's gotten. I'm not surprised. If this journey's any indication he can only keep one meal down in three._

_Rich is talking again, his voice muffled by my shoulder, "...can't go back...mustn't..."_

_I force him to look at me, "No one's making you go back. If they've got a problem about it they can come see me."_

_He tries to smile. Really tries but it doesn't quite reach is eye, "I mean you. Don't go back. It's not worth it."_

_Not go back? What else am I supposed to do with my life?_

_We rest another half an hour before I help him mount up again. As I am checking his saddlebags are secure I feel his hand ruffling my hair. I look up; there is glint in his eyes that I can see, despite the red puffiness that lingers._

"_Destroy it."_

_I understand. We leave that spot and the wooden box stays there, nothing but smouldering ashes now._

There is thud as Cullen slams the carved lid closed. "Take it," he pushes it towards him. "We should probably not waste the stuff. There are others in need. But take it away from me please."

He takes the offered box and watches as his Commander stands a little straighter. He knows he will get through this. Cullen is one of the strongest people he has ever met.

"Cassandra is aware of the situation. Should I falter she will step in as Commander. Through I pray it will not come to that."

"As do I," He will try to do as much for his brother in arms as much as he did for his blood brother. "Look, Cullen, if you need someone to talk to or a distraction or whatever I'm always up for a game of chess."

* * *

The windows in the War Room have finally been fixed which he is grateful for. Between the need to be constantly lighting fires, the candles going out on a night and documents scattering everywhere whenever there's a breeze most of their meetings drag out longer than necessary.

However this meeting has no such excuse. It has been by his estimate at least five hours since they started. There is so much to do. He has been Inquisitor a fortnight. The letters declaring him so went out a week ago and they are inundated with responses and requests that all need careful consideration. Also up for debate is where they (He) are to go next. Orlais' Empress is under threat, but they are unsure how to get close to her. There are whispers of peace talks to be held under the auspices of a Grand Ball, but they are just whispers at the moment. They can hardly go knocking on Celene's door without alerting their enemy. Varric has surprisingly brought news of a potential lead on the Elder One; he is just waiting to hear from an old friend. So again they are beholden to others before they can move on either of those fronts. They are in agreement though, that sitting and waiting on possible leads and possible invites so currently they are assessing a missive from an individual by the name of Fairbanks. Well Leliana and Cullen are debating it as Josephine makes a copious amount of notes and he signs his name to whatever documents are put before him, he has already made his mind up on the matter and he has yet to hear anything to make him rethink his position.

The map looms large in front of him and as always his eyes are drawn to the speck that is Ostwick. He misses it still but it not the sharp pain of the early days, now it is more a dull ache. What are they doing now? What would he be doing? Furthering his family's interests wherever requested most likely. He was used to doing as instructed.

"_I have discussed it with your Mother, you will not be returning," Father pulls a sheet of parchment from his draw pushing it towards me, "Your letter of intent to leave the Order. There should not be much difficulty; you have not taken your vows. Of course we will offer them compensation for losing a promising recruit," he dips a quill into fresh ink and passes it me. I take it on reflex. "Sign it."_

_A week ago I would have railed against him. Fought for my place as a Templar. I was good at it, getting better. I could've made Knight-Captain. Who knows, maybe even Knight-Commander? We've not had a Trevelyan reach that rank for more than two centuries. _

_That was before I spent the night listening to Richard's screams. Mother's sobs. My Father looks a broken man. Now I scrawl my name on the bottom of a letter already drafted for me, "What now? Ship me off to the Chantry. I can't think of anyone less suited."_

"_I agree." He pauses as he mulls the wine about in his glass. It is early in the day but I can't blame him. "I will be blunt: I no longer have a surplus of heirs. William should inherit but he has yet to marry and produce the next Bann. Eleanor is married. Thomas is determined to join the Chantry, he will have to renounce his claim. Richard, well I hope he will recover but how long that may take I don't know," he takes a drink. "Evelyn wishes to remain at the Circle. She wrote to me you know, she wishes to be First Enchanter. She cannot manage the Circle and the estate both. That leaves you." _

"_I understand."_

"_Do you?"_

"_I am your spare."_

"_Unofficially yes. Should, maker forbid anything happen to William and he dies without siring a child and Richard does not recover. You would inherit."_

"_It's unlikely to happen though. William will be married next year and Richard will fight for this. What happens then? Am I to sit here twiddling my thumbs?_

"_No I have thought on that. I have been speaking to my uncle._

_Ah I see where this is going. Great Uncle Benjamin is responsible for commanding the Trevelyan forces such as they are. _

"_You catch on quick. He has no heirs and has not yet chosen a successor. You will step into that role; at least your training will not have been entirely wasted."_

He had not remained the "Spare" for long. Time had marched on and William had dutifully filled the nursery with healthy babes. And he had been rapidly approaching the limit of what his Uncle had to teach him. He has learned more of tactics and command under a few months of Cullen's tuition than from years with his Uncle. Now he looks back and realises he had been restless for a while. He'd wanted to do more, see more. _Be careful what you wish for Trevelyan._ Even if he hadn't been at the Conclave, maybe he still would've joined the Inquisition.

The Nightingale's call halts his reminiscing, dragging him back to the present, "Your thoughts on this Fairbanks then, Inquisitor?"

"I will meet him."

"You are sure?"

"Fairbanks is only one reason to make the journey. There will undoubtedly be rifts to close. But the repairs to Skyhold are not complete and I fear exhausting our logging camps and quarries on the Coast and in the Hinterlands. The Graves offer the chance to establish more. How many soldiers would it take to hold it, more importantly how many can you spare Commander? "

That discussion lasts another half hour before there is a period of silence as notes are made, mental lists tallied. He notices Cullen open his mouth to say something so he puts his own quill down so he has his undivided attention.

"If you squint Lake Calenhad looks like a bunny."

What?

"Perhaps we should take a..."

Nope. No breaks. We're ending this meeting now. We're all tired. Maker's breath the Commander's going cross-eyed and seeing rabbits.

"Ooh I see it!"

Never has he heard Leliana sound so excited. She has a soft spot for cute things, who knew?

The three people he has come to trust most are currently stood heads tilted; eyes almost closed looking at the Ferelden half of the map. Seriously, these three bunny loving lunatics are the pillars that will support him going forward?

Oh well he wouldn't change them for the world.

And Cullen's right it does look like a bunny. If you squint.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"**Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay.****The worst is death, and death will have his day." – William Shakespeare**

_No matter where his travels may take him he will always count the Emerald Graves as one of the most stunning places he has ever seen, despite the terrible history it owns. Right now, however, he needs to stop admiring the scenery. He is lost and this forest seems to go on forever. An endless sea of green hues as far as he can see. And the people he's seen so far aren't keen on helping him. They just stay in the shades of their trees, every time he approaches one they turn away and he can feel the anger radiating of them. So he stays back from them, carries on walking. They out number him so he's not willing to engage in battle while alone._

_He continues plodding along, hoping to come across a camp or at least...wait that face! He knows it, "Harding!" He sprints towards her, his words rushing out, "Finally. I've been wandering around for ages. I've been separated from my group. Have you heard from them? And you! What are you doing so far from camp alone? Maker Harding, I know you're good, but there are all sorts roaming this place. Demons. Red Templars. These Freemen..."_

"_This isn't the Emerald Graves."_

"_...though it has been quiet for a while...wait. What?" He is confused. And these days it doesn't take much, "Of course it is. We just got here. We met Fairbanks a day ago."_

"_This is ours." Her voice is flat, dead. None of the excitement that's usually there when she's just back from scouting a new place. Then he notices for the first time: she's bloody, still bleeding. From her lips, her nose. Most worrying of all there a massive wound on her chest. How is she still standing? Placing a hand on her shoulder he can feel how cold she is, "Harding I think we need to get you to a healer."_

"_I can't leave. This is my place now."_

_It all comes together in an instant. He isn't in the Emerald Graves. This is the Inquisitions'. And every tree is a life lost. A life he's failed to save. He lets go of her and she drops to the ground giving up her last breath. _

_He can't take anymore. He runs as fast as he can. His muscles protesting, each ragged gasp painful. The faster he runs, more trees appear. The further he runs the more familiar the faces get. Workers he's seen putting their castle back together. The soldiers he has camped with all over Thedas. His friends who have guarded his life more preciously their own. Blackwall, Vivienne, Cole, Sera, Bull, Dorian, Varric, Solas, Cassandra. All of them standing bloodied under their own trees, turning their backs on him. Past his advisors, each with their own wounds. There faces a mixture of despair._

_His foot catches on something and he hits the ground hard. Pushing himself up to his knees he sees he's come to a halt in front of yet another tree, this one is possibly the largest in the whole damn place. Its' occupant has no harsh words, just a question laden with disappointment._

"_Where were you?"_

"_I'm sorry, please..."_

_Then pain sears through him. He looks down, there is a red shard sticking out of his abdomen. The heat from it incredible. This is no ordinary blade. This is red lyrium. Clutching his stomach to stop the blade moving he looks up into that marred and distorted face. "I told you I would come for it."_

_It's over, it's all over. _

Jerking awake with a gasp, his knee rattles the bottom of his desk. His shirt is soaked and his hand automatically flies to his stomach. It comes away wet. Is this blood? Assass...no. The dim light of fire is enough for him to see he has knocked his ink well over and his wine. His desk is a mess and his room as not fared much better. Sheets torn from the bed. Pillows burst, feathers sprayed everywhere. Books launched wherever he felt like it. There are indents in the doors where his fists have met the wood. Even the small couch has been upended.

The letter he has been labouring over lies on the floor by his chair. He leans to one side to pick it up. There are a few minor splotches on it but he really can't bring himself to write it out again. Once was painful enough. He folds it up, dripping hot wax onto it and pressing his seal into it. He moves it to a dry spot on the desk. He will pass it on tomorrow. For now he staggers towards the fireplace, grabbing another bottle pilfered from Skyhold's vault. Slowly he picks up another log, tossing it onto the dying flames. Slinking down to the floor he takes a drink. Anything for a dreamless sleep. Failure and sorrow have left the bitterest of tastes in his mouth. One that no amount of wine will wash away.

It's just as well. He's finished this bottle too_._

* * *

_When Josephine said I would have to sit in judgement of our prisoners, this wasn't what I was expecting it would be like._

_Chief Movran leaves the hall to the sound of cheering and applause. I grip the side of the throne to stop myself from joining in. As those gathered begin to disperse I stand and discreetly stretch as I step down. It is not the comfiest chair._

_"An interesting verdict my Lord," There is mirth in Josephine's voice; I can't help but smile in response. _

_"I did my best. He seems harmless enough. To us, I mean. I'm sure Tevinter will come to their own conclusions."_

_"Still, I'm glad you're not too offended by his actions."_

_ "Offended? The man followed me through the Frostbacks to throw a goat at me. I'm not insulted, I'm impressed! I'd ask if we could keep him around but I don't think it would go down well."_

_"You would be correct."_

_We both break out into laughter before she reminds me that we are scheduled to meet Cullen and Leliana in the War Room. They need a full report on the situation with Fairbanks. I only managed to give them the short version yesterday. We arrived back at Skyhold later than I intended. Waylaid by a couple of Red Templars, must speak to Cullen about that as well. They had information on Samson's lyrium operation. I take time to tease her again as we walk through her office, about how quickly she got this room in order. Seriously, Cullen's tower still has a hole in the roof!_

_The atmosphere changes as soon as we walk into the room to join the others. No greetings or pleasantries are exchanged. Their solemn faces tell me something is dreadfully wrong. _

_"What's happened? Has Corypheus been sighted?" Cullen looks ill. Is it the lyrium again?_

_"Cullen are you...?" I don't get a chance to finish as Leliana interrupts. I was so focused on the Commander I didn't notice her move around the table._

_"Some of my agents came across the remains of a battle. Venatori against unknown forces. We searched the field to identify who we could. They noticed something on a body and sent it on ahead."_

_Leliana steps toward me, gently taking my hand, she presses something into my palm, "I am so sorry."_

_It takes a moment to register what I'm looking at. A locket. Red and Silver. Bloodstone and Silverite. I flip it over, feeling my breath catch. It's dented and scuffed but it's there. The golden horse of House Trevelyan. _

_ "Oh Maker no."_

_With trembling fingers I undo the clasp, to confirm what I already know. The images of my parents stare out at me. This is Evelyn's. Father had it made for her, when she left for the Circle. She's dead. My sister is dead._

_"Where?" My voice is barely a whisper._

_"The far outskirts of the Hinterlands. Where it joins with the Fallow Mires. If we hadn't have been marking the Frostbacks route for our spies to use we never would've..."_

_I don't hear the rest of her answer. I just heard Hinterlands and it feels like another kick in the gut. Stumbling backwards; I can feel Cullen guiding me to a chair. How many weeks did I spend there, traipsing over every hill? Looking through every fucking cave?! And all this time she was there! There is a ringing in my ears, numbness in my body and only the odd sensation or sentence gets through the heavy fog. Leliana telling me her swiftest agents are bringing her remains here. Cullen has already sent soldiers to meet them, to guard her. _

_I drop my head into my hands as thoughts race around my mind. They arrive and leave so fast I can't focus. I need to take her home but I can't just arrive with her body. They need to know I'm coming but I can't put news like this in a letter. I promised them I'd find her. What the fuck do I say? "I faced a dragon and Maker knows what else, but I couldn't save your daughter." How long will it take for me to get to Ostwick? She needs to be properly attended. A decent funeral that's all anyone can do for her now. The rifts! With all the activity she could be possessed! It has to be done soon. It will have to be done here. I can't even take her home._

_"My Lord? Please, Henry."_

_Dropping my hands from my face I see Josephine kneeling on the floor before me. Her eyes are watery with unshed tears. _

_"Please, take a drink. You're in shock."_

_I look up to take the offered cup, and I catch it. The tilt of Cullen's head asking a silent question. The slight shake of Leliana's in reply. Something else happened._

_"What aren't you telling me?"_

As a child he was taught to tell the truth. That honesty and honour are inextricably linked. The truth is beautiful, they say. When you grow you learn the truth can also be brutal. What Leliana and Cullen had tried to shield him from is the full extent of that brutality, at least until he was over the initial shock. His Commander will tell him months later, when he can talk about her without feeling like he has been stabbed through the heart, that they hadn't intended to hold anything back at the time but his reaction had thrown them. Apparently he didn't speak for a full twenty minutes until eventually Josephine got through to him.

He'll look back be ashamed at his anger, directed at people who did not deserve it. For a man unsure whether he wanted to lead, was able to lead, he wasted no time in ordering them to tell him everything. And so they had. At least what they were fairly certain had happened, what all the evidence pointed to. Beginning with the Templar's and ending with the Venatori.

_"My agents were unsure at first. You said she was a mage. They were looking for mages. Not, well... She had the Sunburst Seal."_

_"What?"_

_And here Cullen interrupts, "You have seen it. It is the harshest punishment a Templar can inflict on a mage."_

_What the fuck where they trying to punish her for? Trying to save her life? "Where do the Venatori come into this?"_

_"You know of the Occularum? We have found documents in Venatori hideouts that well...to make them they require a Tranquil."_

_Require? Require what? Oh fuck no._

_"Are you telling me that not only did fucking Templars brand my sister?! Brand her and then leave her defenceless! But some sick bastard mages then tried to take her skull?!"_

_Silent nods are my only answer. _

_"I can't even... Templars took her mind and the Venatori took her life. And where was I? Playing the fucking saviour up and down Ferelden. While she was...This is..." I need to get out. I need air. "You will excuse me. I need to...not be here."_

_I leave without a backward glance. I will be surprised if that door is still on its hinges._

* * *

_"The Light shall lead her safely, through the paths of this world and into the next."_

The magic that has preserved her body is fading and he tugs the white sheet over her face. She does not look sleeping or peaceful or like any other of the clichés people bandied about. She is just gone. You are not supposed to have favourites in your family, but in one as large as his you are bound to be closer to some more than others. He and Evelyn were inseparable before she was sent to the Circle. Even then she wrote to him frequently, she was proud of what she could do, delighted in everything new she learned. Taking time to encourage him in his endeavours. She would have fought to the very end. No one would ever know that side of her now. She would be remembered as a victim of the war, not for her wit, her will to succeed.

_"For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame."_

She is cremated in the pale light of morning amidst a light sprinkling of rain. The gardens usually bursting with activity are empty. Mother Giselle reads the chant as He had leads the mourners out and lights her pyre. He is moving stiffly, aching all over. He hit the practice yard early yesterday and did not stop. Not even for the downpour that came in the afternoon. They couldn't run from battle simply because it was raining, they may as well practice in safety here he had told Cassandra. She hadn't been inclined to argue with him so they had continued. Now he feels every joint protest its' movement, not the he minds. It is distracting.

_"She should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her."_

What's wrong with him? He can't even offer her his tears. He had cried for Thomas. For himself. But not Evie. Just bland words from the Chant. For a Maker he is done with. He had held onto a naive dream that they would be reunited. Oh he had doubted, tried not to think about it. He had thought that at the end of it all, if they succeeded, she would be his reward. Foolish! There is no reward waiting.

_ "And she will know no fear of death. For the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."_

So what now? It all came back to the Elder One, to Corypheus. His Templars spreading their lyrium poison, destroying the Order, prolonging the fucking war. His Venatori looking for shards.

The ceremony over, her ashes are collected into an ornately carved urn. She will be borne home by Inquisition riders. The people gathered disperse. This machine that is the Inquisition must continue. It cannot stop for one mage. No matter how much she was loved. They leave him with whispered words of comfort and he forces polite responses out. Eventually only one remains.

"Inquisitor?"

He doesn't look at her; his eyes are focused on the remains of Evie's pyre, "Leliana."

She pauses and he thinks she's about to leave but he hears her voice again. So soft, so unlike her, "For what it's worth I am sorry. You must blame me for this. For your sister and for Haven."

His head whips round which suck force that he can practically hear the muscles in his neck scream in anger. "I know who attacked us. I know whose orders the Venatori are following."

"I keep wondering if I could've done something different. When the first of my scouts went missing, I pulled the rest back awaiting more information. If they'd stayed in the field they could've bought us more time. I was afraid to lose my agents and instead we lost Haven."

"Listen to yourself! Haven was always going to be lost. He had a dragon! A wooden village stood no chance. You made sure we didn't lose our scouts as well.

"Still my people know there duty they know the risks. They understand that the Inquisition may call upon them to give their lives."

"Our people are not tools to be used and discarded. Their lives matter Leliana." All of them. And he will fight for every last one. The graveyard forest will be relegated to his dreams.

"Can we afford such sentimentality? What if Corypheus..."

"We are better than Corypheus!" His voice is loud in the stillness of the garden. Louder than he intended and he is sorry for it as she stares at the charred ground. She is suffering too, this must bring back memories of Justinia and she did not get the luxury of offering her mentor a proper pyre. Not knowing what else to say, he changes the subject, "The instructors you mentioned. How soon can they be here?"

"Have you given though as to what you wish to learn?"

Yes he has decided. He has no patience for traps and potions. Make him as deadly as possible please. Sharpen his blades and his senses. He tells Leliana as much and she pulls her hood up as she leaves to make the necessary arrangements. He doesn't know if he got through to her, her shoulders are still slumped. He lingers a little longer as the last of the embers die out. The flame of his sister's life has faded and her loved ones must carry on in a world made colder.

"'Scuse me, Your Worship," There is a boy standing quietly to the side, long limbs wrapped awkwardly around a bundle in his arms. He knows the lad, Harritt's apprentice, "Master Harritt said you requested your new blades as soon as they were ready. Right away you said."

He takes the offered blades, stepping back and slashing them through the air. They are lighter than his previous pair easier to wield, and the grip is much improved. A testament to the better materials they have gained access to and Harritt's skill.

"Give my thanks to Harritt. These are excellent."

The boy dips into a clumsy bow and dashes off.

Yes. They must be better than Corypheus. He must be better. That bastard walks free covered in the blood of his sister, his brother and countless others. But not for long, they will find him. He will kill him.

_In your heart shall burn, an unquenchable flame, all-consuming, and never satisfied._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

The light is slowly receding from his quarters making the shadows grow long across the floor. He hadn't noticed at first and it makes him wonder how long they've been at this. Clenching his jaw to suppress a yawn he wishes she'd just get on with it.

He senses Cullen's hand in this strategy. When he is in one of his darker moods, his Commander has taken to teasing him over their chess games about his obvious preference for his current companion. _So the news is bad enough to send her to break it and in private too, but not urgent enough that we can dispense with the subterfuge of working first?_

Brow crinkled in concentration, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her quill hovering over the page, waiting to make quick notes where necessary. Her eyes never leave said page as she lights a candle one handed. It must be a move she has practiced many a time. He has no idea how she does this day after day. The mental fortitude it must take. Despite his best efforts to focus, the words on the parchment keep blurring. Maker he is exhausted! He was up at dawn to fit in archery practice, as well as sparring with Bull. Doing both now seems a stupid idea. Leaning back in his chair he closes his eyes for a moment.

A slender finger taps the sheet in front of him, regaining his attention, "My Lord?"

"I'm sorry, what are these again?" The neatly tied bundle before him is the last of the pile she has brought up however there are at least fifty pages. If she needs him to read these, he'll have to fetch more candles_._

"Treaties with Antiva's Merchant Princes. I have been through them; they simply require your signature. Unless you wish to…?"

Maker what would we do without her, "No, no that won't be necessary. I trust you." He scratches his name across the page. He is done with this charade however, "Is there anything else?"

She is hesitant, unsure, so unlike her usual demeanour that it unnerves him_. It cannot be so bad. _"Josephine what is it?"

"We have had a letter from King Alistair. He will be sending the Magister to us for judgement. We expect his arrival shortly."

There is only one person she can be referring to and his hands ball into fists as he abruptly stands up, exhaustion forgotten. Moving away from the desk lest he knocks something over, he begins to pace. It has become somewhat of an automatic reflex since his sister's passing. To sit still is to give himself time to think, to feel, and he has no time to be crippled by that.

"Why? The crimes he actually committed in were on Ferelden soil. This is ridiculous. We've got an Empress who won't stop fighting her own family long enough to look up at the sky and now we've a king who won't do his duty and dispense justice to his people! Must everything fall to us?"

She catches his hand in hers as he paces past her. Uncurling his fist, she removes the now destroyed quill he hadn't been aware he was still holding, "As I told you, the Inquisition is seen as a source of stability and a beacon of law. It may seem a small thing, but for Ferelden to acknowledge our authority like this? All Thedas will take note."

That is true. The Inquisition does not lack for fame, but they must still fight to have their voices heard, respected. Still this is not just any man. Short of the actual Mage and Templar who did the deed, this is the closest he'll come to finding her killer. And the disaster at the Temple. Thomas. "You cannot expect me to be impartial? To judge him fairly?"

"I believe," and here she looks him straight in the eye, "that you will do what is best for the Inquisition. We have time to discuss our options before he arrives. Will you join us for supper tonight?"

_Options_. He realises then that execution will not be one of them and he's unsure if he can let his own desire for vengeance go. "Forgive me; I am not fit for company. Can we discuss this tomorrow?"

Murmuring her agreement, she drops the hand he hadn't realised she was still holding, before turning and walking back over to the desk. Helping her gather her things they bid each other goodnight as he sees her out then getting himself a drink.

He needs to talk himself out of murdering Alexius as soon as he crosses through Skyhold's gates.

* * *

He is the last to arrive and take his seat at the table. This is a strange feeling. He's never sat here without at least one of them on his side. He wastes no time in getting to the point, "You're going to deny me his head?"

Shared glances all around and then Cullen speaks first, "_It was never on offer."_

_Leliana takes her turn, "You are as frustrated as I am about our lack of progress, no? We cannot afford to throw away such a source. Remember Butler? The traitor? You suggested I spare him to see what I could learn. It was good advice Inquisitor, and has paid us dividends. Take your own advice now. If a single spy gave us such a wealth of knowledge, imagine what could we gain from the leader of the Venatori?"_

_Who the fuck is Butler? Never mind it seems my actions will always come back to haunt me._

"He lives for now then but what about when you are done with him?" and just like that the tension that was seeping away returns.

"My Lord?"

"When we have no further use for him and he simply taking up space in our dungeon?"

"What I think our Inquisitor was trying to say is that accidents can happen."

"Leliana! We can't pass one sentence, wait and then pass another. No one would believe it to be an accident! It sets a dangerous precedent, harms our reputation, possibly beyond repair. Inquisitor, please, I know we ask much of you…"

Josephine near distraught, Cullen decidedly uneasy, only Leliana seems unconcerned. Two against two. He told Josephine he couldn't be impartial. But he also promised them to do whatever the Inquisition needed. To not abuse his power.

"I'd say I was joking but we all know it would be a lie. Fine, I will not risk the Inquisition but when we are done with him, he goes back to Ferelden. Far, far away from me. I don't care if it's seen as an insult. King Alistair can bear the expense of keeping him. No arguments, Josephine, just make it happen."

"As you wish My Lord." Notes are made, trial dates are suggested and the prison escort and guards are decided.

He moves to stand, "Are we done here?"

Nods all around, Cullen gathers his papers and falls into step beside him, "Are you heading down to the archery range? I'll walk down with you."

"No, maybe later. I will be in my quarters. I need to write to my family. They should know I'm about to let the scum live."

* * *

The Great Hall is packed. The tables having been pushed back to make room. Morbid curiosity is to blame he supposes. There are new banners hanging from the walls, the sword-pierced eye of the Inquisition glaring down at all in attendance.

There are mumbles and whispers as he takes his seat. Once he is comfortable, as he can be under the circumstances, he raises his hand and silence falls. Gritting his teeth, he nods to Josephine to begin the proceedings.

The Magister is half dragged before him. As he is released by the guards, he slumps to the floor. _Am I supposed to pity you?_

"You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter. Ferelden has given him to us as acknowledgement of your aid. The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination – on your own life no less. Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank. You may judge the former magister as you see fit."

_Make him Tranquil and take his head to find his precious fucking shards. _Of course he can't say that, instead what comes out in a strained voice is, "I remember what would've happened to Thedas if his treachery had succeeded."

"I couldn't save my son. Do you think my fate matters to me?" _I would make you care before I took your life._

"Will you offer nothing more in your defence?" Josephine's tone is no different than from when she addressed the Avaar goat chucker.

The mage pushes himself up to his feet. "You've won nothing. The people you've saved, the acclaim you've gathered – you'll lose it all in the storm to come. Render your judgment Inquisitor." _A little defiance left after all? Good. I hope the Nightingale has fun making you sing for her._

"The Inquisition has exceptionally secure cells for prisoners of distinction. Jail him and have Leliana question him on anything useful. That seems," For a moment, he is back in the Redcliffe of the future. Leliana's screams tear through his mind, her haggard face and broken body before him, "Fitting." At least one of them will have revenge.

It's done, Alexius is hauled away. The people in the hall slowly filter out. Some seem disappointed there has been no bloodshed.

She approaches him cautiously, like he is a horse about to bolt. "Thank you My Lord, I know that was difficult."

"We do what we must."

* * *

For a while there is an uneasy peace. An unspoken agreement that unless it is of vital life-threatening importance, no one is to mention the Magister's name to him. Leliana's reports to him never contain where her information has come from. In return he keeps away from the dungeons. Away from temptation.

It lasts all of a fortnight.

He is in the midst of sparring with Cassandra when the letter arrives. He doesn't see the messenger at first, there is quite a crowd gathered around them and he is focused on the task at hand.

_"__Oh come on boss, you're getting nowhere near her!" _

_"__But he's getting better. Our Lady Seeker never used to break a sweat before."_

_Blackwall's right, in their previous sparring sessions Cassandra has bested him with ease, now he can see her tiring. Unfortunately, Bull's also right. He can't get past that damned shield. He brings his right-hand dagger down on the sword to prevent it rising any further. Then he reverses the direction of his spin, thrusting his left elbow back to connect with the shield. He's too close now, no room to manoeuvre, he needs space. He has an idea, but it could go wrong, well that's the point of training to try new things with minimal risk. He tenses his legs and jumps, angling himself mid-air to use her shield as a springboard. There are cheers as he sails backwards through the air._

_He lands better than he had hoped too and is quickly to his feet. She's been pushed back so they're a good distance from each other; he starts his run, building up his momentum. If he waits 'til the last possible second to make the feint around her, get his daggers at her back...three...two...golden horse...__What?_

_The distraction is sufficient enough__. __There is clang and he feels the impact as shield meets helmet, helmet meets skull and skull meets brain. The crowd groans and his vision blurs. So much for minimal risk. Darkness beckons, if only for a few seconds._

_"__S'okay. M'fine. Need to get through to..."_

_A large hand keeps him firmly seated on the ground. "You're going nowhere Boss. Hey Stitches! Get over here would you?" _

_Bull's man doesn't hesitate; he's kneeling in front of him barely a second later, prodding and poking his face, "Yep that's a busted nose alright. Not too bad, though. Should have you back to your pretty self again soon My Lord. Dalish could you make, er, fetch some ice?"_

_Dalish duly reappears with an ice pack and he holds it to his nose, "You there! With the Trevelyan colours, come here."_

"My name is Stephen, Ser, er, Your Worship. Your father sent me, with…" The lad aims to get something out of his satchel, but freezes at the sound of a dozen swords being drawn.

"Put those away!" Preferably before the son of his Father's stable master pisses himself. "Of course I know you. Geoff's youngest? When did you begin working for my Father?"

"Not long after you left My Lord. I have a letter for you." Slowly he pulls out the parchment and hands it over.

"Thank you. Take your horse over to our stables and go get yourself something to eat."

Quitting the ring, he opens his letter.

_Boy,_

His father is angry then if he won't even write his name.

_When you first wrote to me of the Inquisition, you spoke of justice. For the Divine, for Thedas, for everyone it seems except you own kin._

_The man you tell me bears a greater share than most for our family's tragedy will be allowed to spend the remainder of his days under your protection._

_Where is the justice for Thomas, for Evie? For the rest of your kin? It may interest you to know that at the last count there are over twenty missing Trevelyan's from the Order and Circle alike. What a merry party we shall be at Lucille's next gathering! So many empty spaces! How many more reasons do you need before you act? Before justice outweighs his usefulness? _

_Do not write to me of this Inquisition and justice again, while that man breathes peacefully in your castle._

_Bann Hugh Trevelyan of Ostwick_

Beyond furious if he wouldn't even sign this letter off as "Your Father."

He realises then that he can't stay in Skyhold. He can no longer guarantee he won't slit Alexius' throat in the night. The rage he has tried to supress is coming to a boil.

His feet move of their own volition. Briefly he thinks about returning to his room, exiling himself until he can calm down, but in his heart of hearts he doesn't want too. He can't punish Alexius further but he can lay waste to his underlings, if he wreaks enough havoc he may even draw out his master. No, he's done hiding away in this Castle, under the guise of training, any longer.

The map looms large in front of him as he begins to sift through reports. Seeing Harding's name, he stops flipping through and peruses that report. The Exalted Plains. The Scouts must have finally got through. _Orlesian's at each other's throats, rifts, undead, possible dragon sighting. Sounds like my kind of place. _

"I will be going to the Plains. Perhaps our presence there will force Celene and her cousin to hurry up with negotiations."

"Inquisitor, is everything alright?" Of course she has followed him, he stormed through her office after all.

"It's fine, everything's fine. I'm needed there. May I borrow a quill, and parchment?" she hands over her board, "Send word if Varric's friend arrives."

_Father_

_I received your letter, and while I regret daily that I am no longer just your son, I can do nothing to change that. I grieve for our family as you do, please don't think I don't._

_I am Inquisitor. For every action, I am answerable to all of Thedas not just House Trevelyan. Your faith and trust in me is appreciated Ser. _

_Henry_

As requested, no talk of justice or the Inquisition.

"Could you see this is delivered to my Father?"

"Of course." Casting a glance over the page, her frown pulls at her mouth, "Am I to understand that he is upset with your judgement?"

"To put it mildly. Should he be difficult providing further aid, write to my mother. She was always the more level headed one. I suppose our families have that in common." Taking her hand, he bows low over it, tempted to kiss it but unsure how that would be received he backs out, "Take care Josephine."

He drops her hand and doesn't look back.

* * *

**Hi**

**I'm sorry it's been a while. Life got very, very rough for a very, very long time: family problems, an unexpected operation and general shit got in the way.**

**I have lots written, and it all needs heavily editing but I hope to be posting regularly very soon, most likely after the holidays. Not gonna lie, dreading writing the actual romance stuff to add in, which is what we're getting close too.**

**Cali**


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